The Butterfly's Silk
by Emmel1118
Summary: 'I wasn't expecting ever to see you again and and I'd only just got my head around that when you come back again.' Life has a funny habit of doing exactly the opposite of what you expect it to. The reappearance of an old friend in Clive Reader's life turns everything he though he knew on its head. - Post 3x06.
1. Chapter 1

**_a/n So, this is my first attempt at a Silk fic so I hope its okay. It started out as me trying to make sense of the finale and sort of spiraled into this. This is a sort of almost worst case scenario of what could have happened, so...yeah. It will be quite slow burn so a good fifteen-twenty chapters hopefully, fingers crossed. I'll admit now that updates might be a bit sporadic but I'm going to try to get them up quite regularly if I can. _**

**_I'm just making clear now that I have no experience with law and there's only so much that the internet tells you so some things regarding that might well be wrong. Sorry in advance._**

**_DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. (Apart from the mistakes they're all mine. If you spot any I'd be grateful to know so I can fix them.)  
_**

**_Just to point out before we being: in my head Series 1 and 2 took place in 2011 and Series 3 in 2014. Oh, and this is also set FIVE YEARS after the end of series 3 and will feature a lot of flashbacks to explain what happened so keep an eye on those dates! _**

**_any my feedback would be gratefully appreciated. :)   
_**

**_Title: The Butterfly's Silk_**

**_Main Pairing: Martha/Clive _**

**_Other Pairings (mentioned or otherwise): Clive/Harriet, Sean/Martha, Niamh/Nick, Niamh/Clive, Bethany/Jake _**

**_Warnings: Swearing. Mild violence. _**

**_Summary: 'I wasn't expecting ever to see you again and and I'd only just got my head around that when you come back again.' Life has a funny habit of doing exactly the opposite of what you expect it to. The reappearance of an old friend in Clive Reader's life turns everything he though he knew on its head. _**

_Chapter 1_

**Apr 23****rd**** 2019**

**03.43 PM**

Clive watched carefully as the jury walked back to their seats but after a second he looked away. He stared at the sheaf of papers that littered the desk in front of him in the minutes that elapsed before the court clerk asked the foreman to stand. There was a buzz in his chest, a buzz that he only got sitting here in court in moments like this, waiting for the verdict, waiting to see whether all his hard work had paid off. It was always there, every single time - it had been there for more than twenty years and he loved it. Other people could get from skydiving or driving a car at insane speeds, things like that. Clive Reader got it from getting the verdict he wanted. He couldn't get the rush any other way.

"Have you reached a verdict upon you have all agreed?" the court clerk asked, her voice ringing out in the silence.

"Yes," the foreman replied. He held his breath, his heart fluttering in his chest.

"Do you find the defendant, David Quinn, guilty or not guilty of grievous bodily harm with intent?" Clive's eyes darted up and, for a second, he met the gaze of the foreman of the jury.

"Guilty." A smile broke out on Clive's face as relief flooded his body. So much time devoted to this particular case with only a sliver of a chance of getting the guilty verdict and here he was, the result netted.

As the jury filed quietly out, Clive started shuffling his papers, trying to get them into some semblance of order. The lawyer for the defence, Kieran Washington, let out a deep sigh as he walked past Clive's desk, a bundle of papers clutched under his arm. "Well, Clive," Washington started. "I guess congratulations are in order," he finished, shaking his head slightly.

Washington moved away but then turned back. "How did you do that?" he asked, astonishment running through his tone. "That was a dead-set not guilty from the outset. Circumstantial evidence, a first-time offender in a reputable job, nine times out of ten the jury would have come back not guilty."

"What can I say," Clive replied, lifting is gaze and meeting the other lawyer's eye. "I'm just a good prosecutor." He closed the cover of his file and stood up, sliding it under his arm, turning his back on Kieran Washington and leaving the court.

...

**Apr 23****rd**** 2019  
3.56 PM **

Shoe Lane was empty when Clive arrived back at chambers. Almost all the lawyers were in court and everyone else were either having a late lunch or were pouring over paperwork and working out plans of action for upcoming trials. He sat down in his office chair and lent back, revelling in the relief of the guilty verdict in such circumstances. It had to be one of the best verdicts he had ever managed to get over his career. Washington had been right, it had been a dead-set not guilty and yet here Clive was.

He had been sitting at his desk for a few minutes when the door was suddenly pushed open with such force it hit the wall behind, slamming loudly. "Sir," a breathless voice sounded out. Clive blinked and sat up, staring at the doorway. John was standing there, his hands on his knees, doubled over. "I've been..." He fought for breath, unable to get the words out. "I've...," he wheezed.

"Breath, John. Calm down," Clive said, alarmed at the struggle for breath he was witnessing. John soon managed to catch his breath, leaning on the doorframe. It was then that Clive saw the brief, wrapped in white ribbon, tucked under the clerk's arm.

"I've been trying to find you," John said, finally able to speak without gasping for breath. "You've got a case."

Clive frowned as the clerk offered the brief towards him. He stood up and crossed the room, taking the bundle out of the other man's grip.

"It was Lachlan Humphries' case but his sister went into hospital so he had to go up to Scotland," John explained, as Clive pulled the ribbon and flicked through the papers.

"Why do you look like you've run around half of London to find me?" Clive asked, shutting the cover and frowning.

"The bail hearing starts in," John replied, glancing at his watch. "half an hour." Clive stared at the clerk, surprised.

"Half an hour?"

"Yeah," John replied, still leaning on the doorframe.

"Why me?" Clive asked, setting the bundle of papers on the desk next to him.

"I don't know," the other man answered, shaking his head again. "Harriet said it was a big case-" Clive cut in.

"What big case?"

"I don't know," John repeated. "Maybe you should ask her," John suggested.

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"Harriet," Clive answered, flipping the brief open again, knowing that if the bail hearing was in half an hour he'd have to read it quickly – especially if the case was an important one.

"I think she went to talk to that bloke from the CPS," John replied.

"Okay," Clive nodded. "Thanks," he added a moment later. John turned and left the office with a swift nod.

"God," Clive whispered to himself as he stared down at the sheaf of paper on the desk. Half an hour to learn the ins and outs of an almost certainly complex case. Usually he would have days to plan and prepare but now the time constraint was setting his head into a spin. The relief and happiness he had felt at the guilty verdict had all but evaporated, staring at the words floating on the page. He had a headache already.

He needed to find Harriet.

...

**Apr 23****rd**** 2019  
4.24 PM **

"You've got six minutes," Harriet said, watching the clock as another minute flicked past.

"I know," Clive snapped in reply. "So Louise McAdams was arrested on the twelfth?"

"You don't need to know dates for the bail hearing, Clive," Harriet replied, in a clipped tone. "Just the basic facts. Louise McAdams killed her husband when he tried to leave her. She won't get bail because it's murder. Simple."

"It looks like manslaughter to me. Pushed husband down the stairs, she couldn't have meant-" He didn't get any further.

"It would be, except from the fact the day before she told her sister she wanted to kill him. There's intent right there."

"Right," Clive said, nodding. "So the evidence against-"

"Five minutes," Harriet said, in a faintly irritating tone, interrupting him. "And you've got to get to the court."

"Why couldn't someone else have taken this case?" Clive asked as he stood, picking up the bundle of papers and crossing to the doorway, his back now to Harriet.

"This is the biggest case to have graced the chambers in years," Harriet replied, standing as well. "You are the Head of Chambers; therefore you get the big cases," She continued, speaking as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Clive turned back to face her. "Harriet," She didn't let him finish.

"Four minutes." He shook his head.

"Will you be watching?"

"No, sorry. Got to continue my nice little chat with Harry."

"The bloke from the CPS?"

"Yeah," Harriet replied, flashing him a smile. "Are you going home after the bail hearing?"

"Probably," Clive answered.

"Could you get some milk on the way?" Harriet asked, leaning on a table and folding her arms across her chest.

"Right. Anything else you want from the shop?"

"No."

"Okay." Clive nodded. "Harriet..." He trailed off, unsure what to say. "I'll see you later, then." She smiled sadly at him.

He had taken a step through the door before Harriet replied. "Clive," she started. "we need to talk." He stopped in his tracks and gave a small nod. She was right. They did need to talk. Things were far too strained between them recently. In fact, Clive had been sleeping on the sofa for more than a week after their last argument – which, like the majority of the arguments they had, had been over nothing.

Their professional relationship was, rather paradoxically, still going strong. That was probably because Clive prided himself on the fact that the moment he started work, he didn't let himself bring all his personal problems in with him. It had always been the way he worked, because it had been the way he had been brought up - never to bring his emotions into play when professional matters were on the line.

"Three minutes, Clive."

He sighed and left the room.

...

**Apr 23****rd**** 2019  
4.29 PM**

His gown flapping in the wind behind him, Clive entered the courtroom. Everyone turned to look at him because he had only just made in on time to the bail hearing. He hurried over to the prosecution's desk and set the bundle of papers he was holding down. "Mr Reader, I'm so glad you thought to join us," the judge noted, his voice scathing and Clive cursed internally. Getting on the wrong side of the judge this early in the trial was not a good thing – especially with Harriet's words ringing in his ears. _This is the biggest case to grace the chambers in years. _God, he was messing it up before it had even started.

"I'm sorry, your honour. I only received the brief half an hour ago because I was in court..." Clive trailed off, seeing the displeased face of the judge looking back at him. He felt flustered as he sat down in his seat and waited for the judge to start, as he collected his thoughts.

The judge started talking but Clive only half listened, still attempting to get his thoughts into order before the defence started. He still had only half-formulated the speech he would give to try and get bail denied and the words he wanted to add wouldn't materialise in his mind, just floating away. He was still all over the place when the lawyer for the defence started talking, but the moment she did, all of Clive's thoughts, half-formulated speech and all, stopped dead.

"Louise McAdams is a woman who does not deny what she did." More words rang out into the courtroom, but Clive – though he knew he should be listening with his undivided attention – didn't hear a single one. The Bolton accent was unmistakable to Clive because he had known the woman whose voice it was for twenty years, thereabouts. Even after five years of absence from his life, Clive instantly recognised it.

Martha Costello was the lawyer for the defence.

...

**Apr 23****rd**** 2019  
5.11 PM **

Clive felt drained. The bail hearing had not gone well, but then again, after he had realised that Martha was the other lawyer he had had a feeling that it wouldn't. He'd managed to stop the bail application from being successful, but contrary to what usually happened with defendants charged with murder, the suitability of that ruling would be reassessed at different points before and during the trial.

It was not a good result, if Clive was being honest. Not the one he had wanted.

He gathered his papers together and when he'd finished that he stood up and pulled them towards his chest. He was about to leave the now almost empty courtroom when the only other occupant spoke. "Clive," she said, quietly, from her end of the desk. After a few seconds passed and she didn't add anything, he spoke up.

"Martha," he said, curtly. Five years with nothing, not even a single phone call and here she was, defending the case the Harriet had called the biggest to have graced the chambers in years. With Martha Costello defending, Clive would have to pull out all the stops because that would be what she did. That was her style: don't stop, don't sleep, don't give up until you get that not guilty verdict.

It was strange - after all this time to be angry once again at Martha Costello. It was something he never thought he have to feel again, this all consuming, bitter anger because Martha left London, left him, and never even called to tell him she was okay. She could have died for all he knew! This anger, he hadn't felt in since those dark days that followed Martha's disappearance. Time, which might not be able to heal all wounds, had buried his anger quite successfully. Until now. It was all rushing out now, a torrent of pent-up emotion.

He was angry with Harriet too, for she must have known that Martha was defending but she hadn't told him. She must have known – she had already known the ins and the outs of the case when Clive had turned up so it was foolhardy to believe that she didn't know the name of the lawyer for the defence.

"So, do you only do prosecuting work now?" she asked, sitting back in her chair as he set the papers back down.

"Yeah," he replied, his tone still curt.

"How are you?" She asked, her tone completely changing from that of professional curiosity to an actual want to know how he was. He closed his eyes for a second, his chest feeling strange and tight. It was all because of Martha and her surprise reappearance in his life. Five years. Five years with nothing and now this? He sighed and opened his eyes, perturbed to find himself on the verge of tears. The anger was still there, but it was slowly fading away. He could never be angry at Martha for that long.

"I didn't even know you were back in London," he said, his voice slightly strangled as he turned to face her properly for the first time. The second half of the sentence went unsaid because both of them already knew the implication of his words. _Let alone defending the client I'm prosecuting. _

"I only came back a few weeks ago," she replied. "For this case, actually," she continued. "A friend of mine has been inviting me to join her chambers for years. This was the case it took for me to say yes to coming back here."

"Where have you been?" Clive asked, wanting to leave the room and leave Martha behind, forget about her and all the unhappy memories that were resurfacing at her unexpected return, but unable to make his feet actually move and take him out of the room. Martha had always had this strange effect on him. From the first day they met, she was able to captivate him with a simple word or gesture and now was no different, even after half a decade of absence.

"Home," she said, quietly, before saying louder. "Bolton."

"Is it nice up there this time of year?" He asked, internally cursing himself for how dispassionate he sounded, how disconnected his words made him seem.

"Lovely," she replied. Martha didn't say anything for a long moment afterwards and Clive did nothing himself to fill the uncomfortable silence that hung over them. "Who's the lucky lady then?"

"What?" Clive asked, frowning.

"You're wearing a wedding ring," Martha pointed out, softly.

"Oh."

"Yeah," she replied, rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand.

He couldn't reply for a long moment, the name sticking to his tongue like it was attached by Velcro. "Harriet," he managed to get out, breaking the silence. He didn't know what to expect from her reply, but what Martha did say took him by surprise. It was the calmness of her reply that unsettled him the most.

"Oh. Harriet," she said, quietly. "_That_ Harriet?" she asked, her face screwed up in a frown.

"Yeah," Clive replied.

"Right," she replied. "Congratulations, then, Clive," she added, a moment or two later, rising out of her chair and moving towards him. Martha stood in front of him for a second, her eyes meeting his, before she pulled him into a hug. Clive stood stock still, his mind moving so fast he felt motion sick.

Martha was back in London. And she was acting like the last five years hadn't happened. Acting like the things that had been said, things that had happened, were just a figment of his imagination. She was pretending that they were exactly where they were before Sean's trial, before she'd gone off to _Bolton_ and way before he'd married Harriet. What the hell was going on? This was more disconcerting that if she just pretended he was nothing, or just yelled at him, been angry at him, hated him. This..this almost normality was worse than anything she could have done.

He knew why that was. It was because she knew just as much as he did that they both wished that they had never drifted apart. Friends for nearly two decades only to be split apart by chambers politics. It was more than that, Clive knew, but he never wanted to admit that maybe the strong, resilient woman he knew was far more fragile than he gave her credit for, underneath the cracks. He'd once said to her that if she continued to give her all to every case, she'd burn out. For years he'd wondered whether that was what had happened to Martha, but at least he knew now that she hadn't turned her back on the law, like he'd always wondered she might have.

Martha frowned again and took a step backwards, her arms falling to her sides. They stared at each other for a good few seconds before Clive spoke.

"Marth," he started, but before he could continue, the door to the court opened and a clerk popped her head from the door. She looked confusedly from Clive to Martha and then back again.

"The next trial's starting in a few minutes. Could you..." the clerk said, gesturing at the two of them.

"Of course," Martha said, moving away and gathering her papers together. Clive, who was still clutching his papers to his chest, waited for Martha to collect her stuff and then they walked out of the court together, neither of them saying a word.

As they walked down the corridors together, Clive could have sworn that the clock had turned back and the two of them were young again, walking the hallowed halls of the courts for the very first time. He knew now why Martha had acted like the last five years hadn't gone by. It was so much easier.

They started to slow down as they came to the doors and when they got there, Martha stopped and turned to face him. "I've got to go that way." She gestured to the left. "If you're still at Shoe Lane then you've got to that way." Even after five years, she still knew the way back to Shoe Lane like the back of her hand, not that the journey was that complicated and, for some reason, that made Clive happy. "So," she started. "I'll see you around." And with that, Martha disappeared into the crowd. Clive watched her go, until he lost sight of her and, sighing, turned away.

As he walked back to Shoe Lane, he had to keep reminding himself that the last half an hour had actually happened, that Martha actually had stood up in court and defended Louise McAdams, the woman he was prosecuting. It had been strange, going against Martha in a trial once again – it had been something he didn't know he had missed but it turned out he had.

He'd missed Martha, if he was being honest, but quite often, now and in the past, Clive and the truth had a very strained relationship.

..

**Apr 23****rd**** 2019****  
6.03 PM **

He could see that the living room light was on as he pulled up on the drive. He opened the car door and clambered out of the car, before remembering the milk that sat, all alone, on the front seat. He lent in and picked it up before slowly making his way to the door.

Once he was inside, Clive made a beeline for the kitchen, not dwelling the fact he should have at least made sure Harriet knew he was home. He opened the fridge and slid the milk in before he slipped into one of the seats at the table. He reached for the newspaper that was neatly stacked in the middle and opened it. He was in the middle of an article about the reportedly dreadful state of the nation's health service when Harriet appeared in the door way. "Oh, I didn't hear you come in," she said, walking over to the sink and dropping her cup into the stone-cold, soapy water.

"You didn't tell me," Clive said, putting the newspaper down on the table.

"Tell you what?" Harriet asked, frowning.

"Martha Costello."

She didn't reply, instead turning to the sink and beginning to wash up her cup, ignoring his question.

"Why didn't you tell me, Harriet?" he asked, standing up and taking a step towards her.

"Why d'you think, Clive?" she replied, her hands going still in the sink. "I remember what you said, Clive. I _can't_ forget, even if it might have been five years ago." Her tone was icy and he could see the tension in her arms.

"That conversation never happened. That's what we agreed," Clive replied, matching her cold anger beat for beat. "Unless you want to remember what happened afterwards."

"Oh, don't worry, Clive. I can remember fine." She dropped the cup in the sink, the bubbles leaping up at her, as she turned and stormed from the room. Clive watched her go, knowing that after two years of tempestuous marriage, he might well be seeing it crumble beyond repair.

And if he was being honest – but, remember, Clive and the truth didn't get on well – he didn't really care.

...

**Apr 24****th**** 2019  
4.56 AM**

He woke suddenly. Clive wasn't sure what had woken him, but he could make a guess. The lumpy sofa cushions were giving him backache. He said up, groggy, and lent back, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. He could still hear Harriet's cold reply echoing around his head. He thought he loved his wife but then again what did he know about love?

That he couldn't hack it?

Couldn't do it?

That it hurt?

That he didn't really understand the rules and therefore couldn't play the game?

Clive sighed and put his head in his hands. Martha reappearing in his life seemed to be the final straw in his already fragile marriage and for a second, he hated her for it. Hated that fact he had ever known her, ever become friends with her, ever shared half his life with her, ever let her mean so much to him. But he had.

And then, one evening, she'd disappeared. Gone to Bolton, he now knew but for all those years he hadn't, he'd wondered where she'd ended up. He sighed again and slowly lay back down on the sofa. He knew that he couldn't stay angry at her for long – twenty years of friendship meant far more than anything else.

Harriet was upstairs, asleep in their bed, and Clive wondered if she was quite as lonely as he was. They were being stupid, he knew, because they were basically living separate lives as far as being a couple was concerned. But neither of them could find the words to say, despite how many times they would say they needed to talk or despite how many times they would argue bitterly over nothing. Love shouldn't be like that. No. Love _wasn't_ like that.

A frown on his face, Clive fell asleep.

...

**Jun 14****th**** 2017  
1.32 PM **

It was a pleasant day, Clive noted, staring out of the church window. A little too hot, but apart from that, it was perfect. He felt slightly uncomfortable in his suit but he had a feeling that everyone else was feeling a little overdressed for the weather too. He glanced at his watch. Twenty eight minutes until kickoff. God, he sounded like Billy.

At the thought of Billy, Clive felt hollow inside. Sure, he and the clerk had had their clashes over the years and there had been times that Clive hadn't been able to stomach the sight of the other man, but now, three years on from Billy's death, he had come to realise that no matter how much like sentimental crap it sounded like, Shoe Lane was his family. All of them – but in particular, Billy, Alan Cowdrey...and Martha.

Martha. He hadn't thought about her in quite some time, instead focusing on the here and now and not the past. He had become quite adept at pushing the past right to the depths of his brain never to be thought about. Harriet was the now, Martha was the past. Clive knew which woman was he was marrying today.

And it wasn't Martha.

Alan Cowdrey was sitting in the front pew and Clive wondered how it had come to this - Alan Cowdrey being his best man. More like the _only_ man. Clive hadn't realised it until he'd had to pick someone to be his best man that he had no friends anymore. He'd never given it much thought really, because he always thought it better to have a good career, good money coming in, than to have friends. And anyway, he was never short of the company of women. But then again, he couldn't really have one of his exes as his best man, because for one, they were women and two, he couldn't see Harriet being very happy about that.

So Alan Cowdrey it was. Maybe, only maybe, if Billy was still around, Clive would have asked him, but then again, Billy and Harriet were never what you could have called friends. She might have put up a stand if he'd asked Billy.

But, after all, it was just conjecture. Billy was dead and had been so for three long years. Three long years in which his carefully constructed family that had been Shoe Lane Chambers had been slowly dismantled. First Alan going upstairs to become a judge, – which, admittedly, Clive hadn't much minded at the time, because it had left the door wide open for him to become Head of Chambers – then, Billy dying and after that blow, the final nail in the coffin, Martha disappearing into the night one cold March evening.

He was the only one left from the beginning – back in the early days of his career when he and Martha had been pupils, Alan their pupilmaster and Billy had been a junior clerk. Sometimes he looked back on those times with a nostalgia he didn't feel for the majority of his other memories, but then he remembered how hectic his life had been then, how little he'd felt compared with all the lawyers he seemed to come into contact with – compared, quite soon after meeting her, with Martha Costello. That was the way it was, because they were opposing pupils but Clive hadn't forgotten the relief he'd felt when he and Martha had both been accepted for tenancy. He hadn't really thought about it then and hadn't given it any thought in the years afterwards either. Martha had always been a good friend, a close friend - a confidante, maybe. Things had changed on that front over the years too but he still didn't like to dwell on it. There had been a time, however brief, when he'd accepted it, considered it in detail, but that time was over now.

His wedding day was not a day to be ruminating on the past.

...

**Apr 24****rd**** 2019  
6.43 AM **

The clanking of glasses and plates was what woke Clive for the second time that morning. Bleary, he opened his eyes, knowing that it would Harriet in the kitchen. This was how their mornings had been going recently. She'd set her alarm for six, have a shower and then come downstairs and start making breakfast. Clive would be woken up by this, go for his own shower, come back downstairs, eat his own breakfast and then they'd go into work together for half past seven.

He stood and groggily made his way upstairs.

...

**Apr 24****rd**** 2019  
7.11 AM **

The toast was seemingly taking an age to pop up. Harriet was sitting at the table, flicking through a newspaper. They'd hardly said a word to each other this morning and that was how it usually was. They didn't really ever talk until they got into work – except, of course, if they were arguing. Clive knew it was no way to live and that it was unfair on both of them, but neither of them could ever find the courage to say out loud what they both knew.

"Lachlan's not coming back." The softly spoken words took Clive by surprise and it took him a few seconds to compute the knowledge his wife was imparting to him.

"I thought he was only going up for a few days?" Clive inquired, at the same moment his toast finally popped up. He placed it onto a plate, burning his fingers, before Harriet replied.

"His sister needs support and needs her family. Her condition isn't as good as Lachlan thought." Clive nodded, as he started buttering his toast.

"What happened to her?"

"Car crash." Harriet nosily shut her newspaper and for a moment, Clive thought that maybe they were actually going to talk about the state they'd let their marriage get into, but in classic Harriet style it was work she talked about instead. "Lachlan's departure means that we need a replacement - new board member, to fill Lachlan's shoes," she noted. "We need an experienced junior, who we can be sure that in time will make Silk," Harriet continued. "And I think we can both agree that there are no candidates currently at Shoe Lane, so we'll have to bring someone in." Harriet nodded to herself as Clive started eating his buttered toast. "I'll set up the interviews and you and Jenny can decide together." The first piece finished, Clive started on the second, thinking over what Harriet was telling him. The board had been himself, Harriet, Lachlan Humphries and Jenny Anderson for almost the entire five years Clive had been Head of Chambers, and before that, for years, it had been himself, Alan Cowdrey, Kate and Martha, which was the setup Clive had modelled the current board on.

How thing had changed, though, since those days, Clive thought to himself, as Harriet gathered her things together. Clive finished his second slice of toast just as his wife announced it was time to go. He noted rather idly that they'd said more to each other this morning than they had for the last week's worth of mornings combined.

Clive shrugged and followed Harriet out of the door.

...


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N Thanks for all the lovely reviews I got on the last chapter, they were all incredible! :) I'm glad you liked it. Here is chapter two up much earlier than I'd ever even dared to hope. I'd like to say that all the chapters will be up this soon, but I have the unfortunate feeling they won't be. I've planned the rest of the story though so who knows? I'll definitely try to get at least one update a week. _**

**_I hope you enjoy this chapter. :) (I apologise in advance for any mistakes!) _**

_Chapter 2_

**Apr 24****th**** 2019  
1.09 PM**

Harriet was sitting across from him, noisily eating a salad whilst flipping her way through a file on potential candidates to fill Lachlan Humphries' space in Chambers. Clive himself had already eaten before he'd had to go into to court at eleven for the last day of a money laundering trial, unsure on how long it would drag on. He'd managed to get a guilty verdict and the defendant had received an eight year sentence. It was a good result.

"What about this one?" Harriet slid a file towards him. Clipped onto the right corner was a picture and Clive studied it carefully. "He's got a good reputation as an up and coming prosecutor, so I think he fits the bill." He leafed through the folder, taking in the information, before he slid if back to Harriet.

"I'd have to meet him - maybe see him in action, first." His wife gave a little impatient sigh before eating another forkful of salad.

"So if I set up interviews with the candidates and then if they pass muster, you or Jenny could go watch them in court? Does that sound like an alright plan to you?" Clive nodded just as the door swung open.

"Did I hear my name?" Jenny Anderson asked as she came in and set a pile of briefs down on her desk.

"Clive and I have agreed that we're going to interview for the replacement for Lachlan. Then possibly, either you or Clive could witness them in action. See if they're good enough," Harriet explained, leaning back in her chair.

"Okay," Jenny agreed, slowly nodding her head. She turned to Clive. "How's your murder trial going?"

"What?" Clive replied, his head firmly in out of court mode.

"The Louise McAdams murder trial?" When a few seconds passed and Clive hadn't replied, Jenny spoke up again. "The one Martha Costello is defending?"

"Oh, that one," Clive replied, feeling a little stupid for not even remembering the name of the woman he was prosecuting. But then again, he'd only got the brief yesterday, half an hour before the bail hearing. Then there was the shock of seeing Martha again and that had sort of put most coherent thought out of his head, so it wasn't really a surprise that he couldn't remember Louise McAdams, or even the simple fact that it was murder she was being accused of. "The trial starts on Friday," he finally added.

"Martha Costello's back in London, then?" Jenny commented, as Harriet closed the lid on her salad.

"I'd better be off. I have a meeting in ten minutes," Harriet explained, tossing her half eaten salad into the bin and leaving the room. When she was gone, Jenny raised her eyebrows at Clive, before continuing talking.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say she was jealous."

"Don't, Jenny," Clive replied, leaning back in his seat. "Jealous of what, anyway?" Clive couldn't help but ask after a few minutes of silence had elapsed.

"Martha, of course. Specifically, you and Martha, I would think."

"And why would she be jealous of me and Martha?" Clive asked, even though he was pretty sure both he and Jenny knew the answer.

"Do I really have to answer that question, Clive?" He shook his head. The answer was really quite obvious, after all. "Look, I've been at Shoe Lane a decade, Clive. I think that's longer than anyone else here except from your fine self. Oh, and probably John. Anyone actually know how long he's been here?" He shook his head. "And I split my time here into two - with Martha and after Martha. I guess I could say with Billy and after Billy and mean the same thing." Clive smiled sadly at Jenny. "The thing is, Clive, everything changed when you became Head of Chambers. One night and all the Shoe Lane stalwarts apart from you were gone. Now, you can decide if that's a good thing or not, but what it means is that there's no one who remembers what things used to be like here." She paused. "I remember, Clive," Jenny stated, and he couldn't help but look away. "Harriet doesn't know, does she?"

"About...about what?" Clive asked, his mouth feeling dry. He could feel a headache coming on and he wasn't quite sure why.

"About how close you and Martha were," Jenny answered. "Was it strange seeing her again?"

Clive swallowed but then nodded. He glanced at the clock on the wall and realised that he had to be in court in fifteen minutes. "I'll see you later," Clive said as he stood and crossed to the doorway, before he turned back. "For the interviews, right? Lachlan's replacement, you'll be there?"

"Yeah." Clive nodded before he went out of the room, Jenny's words still ringing in his ears.

...

**Apr 24****th**** 2019  
3.19 PM**

He saw her when he finally made it out of court – a bail hearing, the second in as many days that had lasted far longer than he'd anticipated. She was sitting on the other side of the corridor, her face screwed up in the frown of concentration Clive remembered so well. "Marth?" he called out before he could think better of it. She looked up and frowned at him for a second, before smiling and gesturing at the seat next to her. Knowing he didn't have much time before Harriet's interviews for Lachlan's replacement, which were starting at half past three, he hurried over. As he came over, she put the papers she was scrutinising away and Clive realised that it was probably because they related to Louise McAdams' case.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a long moment. "So, is Louise McAdams your only case at the moment?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and he cursed himself from bringing up work when they had much more to talk about outside those boundaries. Not that they would probably ever end up talking about it, though. They never did. It just wasn't them.

"At the moment," she murmured in reply. "What were you just in court about?"

"Appealing a lenient sentence," he answered. "What are you here for?"

"At the chambers I'm at, they're all really loud. I can't think when I'm there. So I come here most days." Clive nodded, glancing at his watch and realising that he should be starting to make his way back to Shoe Lane if he didn't want to be late. He didn't move.

"I missed you," he said quietly – and it was the second time in a matter of minutes that he hadn't thought before he'd spoken. Martha, in true Martha fashion, didn't say a word, not even seeming to register his words.

She gave a little cough and then stared at the floor. A second later, she spoke. "You tried to call me on your wedding day." Her words took him back to a moment in time he'd tried desperately to forget. His one moment of weakness on the day that supposed to be the best day of his life and at the time, it had been but now, with reflection and hindsight on his side, he had realise that, really, it hadn't been. There had been much better, happier, days before then, not that he'd have admitted that anyone – except maybe Martha. He trusted her more than anyone else, even after all this time.

"How did you know it was my wedding day?"

"You said. In the message you left." He tried to remember what he'd said, but he couldn't. He'd been a little drunk, he knew that, but to have forgotten what he said? That was not a good sign. "What did you want me to do? Tell you not to marry her?"

"I don't know," Clive answered, quietly, aware that they were walking into dangerous territory.

"If I'd told you not to marry her, would you have listened to me?" Clive closed his eyes and leant his head back against the cool wall. If Martha had told him not to marry Harriet what would he have done? He didn't know and it was too late now anyway. Martha hadn't said anything.

"It was too late."

"What was too late?" He still had his eyes tight shut because he didn't think he could look at Martha at the moment. Things were still too raw; it was too soon to be talking about these sorts of things. Clive was also surprised that Martha wasn't yelling at him, wasn't angry at him. He'd thought she would be, but maybe in the years between their last meeting and now, things had changed for her.

"The phone call," he answered, softly. "I'd..." He trailed off, unable to form the words he wanted like he had so many times in the past. "It was too late," he finally said, simply, as he opened his eyes.

Martha seemed to understand, her eyes still fixed on the floor. "You'd already gone through with it." He smiled sadly. Even after five years, she could still read him like an open book. It was scary really, how well they knew each other, and yet could never say the important things. "Why, if you weren't sure, did you marry her, Clive?" He was surprised to hear slight strains of anger in her tone.

"I wanted to..." He trailed off yet again.

"You wanted to what? Settle down; have a family - do all the things that men are supposed to do?" Martha replied, the traces of anger still there. "How did that work out for you, Clive?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he hit back, instantly on the defensive.

"That you only married her because it felt like it was your duty." Trust Martha to say what she meant. Trust her not to dress it up to save his feelings. She never had and probably never would. "It's almost the only reason you've ever done anything in your life before."

"Is that what you think? I only ever do things out of a sense of duty? Who do you think I am?" Clive questioned, angrily.

"You're Clive Reader. Does that answer your question?" She replied. They sat in an angry silence for a moment before Martha stood up and left without another word. He sighed and stood up himself. Clive started walking away, well aware that his conversation with Martha had not gone well, when he saw the time. Great, now he was going to be late to Harriet's interviews too.

...

**Apr 24****th**** 2019  
3.37 PM **

Harriet was glaring at him when he finally arrived back at Shoe Lane. "What the hell has taken you so long? You got out of court twenty minutes ago. Jenny's had to start the interviews without you." He shrugged off his coat and handed it to Harriet. Clive straightened his tie and spoke, his hand on the door to his office.

"Candidate's name?"

"Hector Gregory. He's the one I told you about earlier." She snapped in reply. Clive nodded and opened the door to the office.

"Mr Gregory, I'm so sorry I'm late. I got held up in court. You know how it is."

...

**Apr 24****th**** 2019  
6.39 PM **

More than three hours interviewing for potential replacements would be mind-numbing on a good day, but with Martha and Harriet's angry words swirling around his mind and not leaving him alone, it was slowly killing him. Eleven interviews in three hours and Clive's brain had almost completely switched off after about candidate number four. He was grateful to Harriet for supplying him with a list of questions at least and he was grateful to Jenny too, for realising his mind was elsewhere and handling the majority of them for him. Clive just sat there, trying to look like a Head of Chambers should look like, and trying to cast a judgement as to which he wanted to join Shoe Lane. He also spent a lot of time wondering just how Harriet had managed to get twelve lawyers all here at such short notice, let alone all interested in the same position. And yet, they all seemed to actually want the job. Harriet must know more people that he gave her credit for.

The eleventh candidate was a short dumpy man who sweated far too much for Clive's liking and who answered the questions put to him stiltedly and with absolutely no confidence. Jenny obviously agreed with him that the man was not fit for the job and wrapped up the interview five minutes early. The man stood, thanked them and then left all before Clive realised he didn't even know the man's name, he was that innocuous.

"Eleven down. One to go. At the moment, who would you pick?" Jenny asked, when candidate number eleven was gone. Clive flicked through his notes – mostly filled with scribbles and drawings, with a distinct lack of actual insightful notes.

"The first one was okay."

"Hector Gregory?" Jenny asked, surprise easy to here in her tone. "He was too..." She thought about how she would describe their first candidate and smiled when she hit upon a suitable word. "slimy, for my liking." Clive nodded in agreement after a pause of consideration. Gregory had been a little too confident, but then again, Clive had a feeling that that was because he was Harriet's pick for Lachlan's replacement and that had made him feel like he had the job in the bag.

"Only one more to go, though," Clive said, a second before the knock came at the door and the final candidate entered. It took him a second for his eyes to make sense of what he was seeing. No, not _what_ he was seeing, _who_.

Niamh Cranitch was the final candidate.

...

**Jun 14****th**** 2017  
6.27 PM**

The two glasses of expensive champagne Clive had drunk were not sitting well in his stomach as he sat at the empty table, watching his wife – something he was going to have get used to calling her – talk to his mother on the other side of the room. His phone sat on the table next to him and he felt far more tired than he had felt in months – far more tired than he usually felt when he came out of court after a hard day's work.

The toasts had been completed five minutes ago and that was what had led to this black mood descending on Clive. To be more specific, it was the toast to absent friends that had upset his joy at what had been one of the best days of his life. It had reminded him of all the people who hadn't been able to come to his wedding, for one reason or another. Jake and Bethany hadn't been able to come; a well-earned holiday to Spain booked far in advance had unfortunately clashed. His father wasn't even here – who knew that a meeting with potential investors in his banking company was more important than his own son's wedding?

And Billy wasn't here. Martha wasn't here. In fact, apart from Harriet and his mother, Clive couldn't really say that anyone else here actually cared about him and he cared about them in return.

And that was what had sent him into this bad mood.

He picked up his phone and stared at the photo on the lock-screen for a long moment, attempting to drag himself out of this hole of depression, attempting to forget about the people who weren't here and instead on those who were. The picture was of him and Harriet when they'd gone on holiday the previous year. It wasn't his favourite picture of her that he had, but it was the best one with the both of them together. Almost on autopilot he unlocked the phone and went to his photo album and started flicking through – for old time's sake, really. There were some nice shots of Harriet that were probably better than the one he had as his lock screen, but he wasn't in a single one – as he'd taken all of them.

He flicked onto the next picture and stopped, his finger hovering over the screen and the champagne sloshing uncomfortably in his stomach. He'd managed to go through all the photos of Harriet and had accidentally stumbled upon the other photos he had on this phone. All of the ones before Harriet had been downloaded onto his phone from the computer, instead of being taken on the device and Clive knew that there were a few snaps of his childhood somewhere – he could remember Harriet nagging him to load them on.

What didn't remember was putting this particular picture on. He couldn't even remember it being taken, but the fact it was on his phone was proof that it must have been.

It was a snapshot into the past.

Martha and Billy stared up at him from the screen, their faces being burned onto the back of his mind. So much for forgetting about absent friends. Craving fresh air, Clive stood up suddenly, which probably wasn't a good idea as the wine in his stomach was making him feel far more uneven on his feet than two glasses should have done. Then again, was he sure it was two glasses and not more? Clive wasn't actually certain and internally accepted that he might have had more than two glasses.

He stumbled towards the door and saw a few anxious glances thrown in his direction, but he didn't pay attention and soon he was out in the cool air, it blowing refreshingly against his hot face. His phone was still clutched in his hand. He turned the screen to face him and there they were, his absent friends, smiling up to him and he did two things he wouldn't have done if he hadn't have drunk definitely two but probably more glasses of champagne.

He started crying, fat hot tears streaking down his face. Clive always made a morose drunk when he was really smashed. When he was tipsy, he was charming, but after a point the charm disappeared and even the littlest thing could set him off. Martha used to tease him about it in the early days of their friendship, but Clive also knew that it had freaked her out sometimes, seeing him cry because he so rarely did it when he was sober.

He also, with trembling fingers, found Martha's number. He couldn't call Billy because he was dead so she was the only one left. It scared him that he hadn't seen Martha in three long years. Three years with nothing, when over the preceding eighteen, there'd hardly been a day when they hadn't seen each other for at least a moment or at least talked on the phone.

He found her number and pushed the screen with his shaking finger and soon the sound of ringing resounded around the silent garden. She didn't pick up.  
His hands were still shaking as he heard her voice, her distinctive Bolton accent burning his ears and melting his heart.

He suddenly realised how surprised he should be that after three years she still had the same number. So many people changed phones like nothing these days. For years Clive had had the same phone, until Harriet had bought him a new one for his birthday two years ago. He realised that if Martha had wanted to contact him, she wouldn't have been able to. Then he remembered she knew where he worked, so if she had desperately needed him, she could have contacted him through Shoe Lane.

A loud beep brought him out of his head and to his senses. "Marth..." he started, but soon he realised he had no clue where to go next. He searched his fuzzy head for something to say and before he could stop himself, words where flooding out of his mouth. It was a big problem for Clive – he quite often spoke without considering what consequences his words might have. "It's my wedding day," he said, his words ever so slightly slurred. "and I miss you."

"It's my fucking wedding day and I miss you." He had a feeling what he was saying wasn't the most coherent sentence he had ever said or the most eloquent, but he didn't care. He wanted Martha to know what the last three years had done to him. "Fuck, Marth, why did you leave?" he added, a second later. "I didn't want you to go, you know. No. I think you already know that, don't you?" He sighed. "Stay," he said, softly, into the phone. "There, I'm saying it, Martha. I know you told me not to, but then again, when do I do what you tell me to? Stay. Stay. Stay." He paused and, with every second that passed, he could feel his tears drying on his cheeks. "Stay, damn you! Why didn't I say it when it mattered? Stay, bloody, stay!"

The failing summer light burned his drunk eyes as he stared into the distance, an ache in his chest that hadn't been there earlier, when he'd stood at the altar and bound his life inextricably with Harriet's. "Oh, God, Marth. Three years," he whispered, hoarsely into the phone. Quieter this time, he spoke again. "I miss you." He was shaking as he dropped the phone from his ear and pressed the end call button. As her details disappeared from the screen, the picture of her and Billy reappeared and suddenly, anger reared its ugly head. He threw the phone as hard as he possibly could and it hit the brick wall opposite him with a pleasing thud.

"I'd imagine that was quite expensive, so if I were you, I wouldn't throw it at a brick wall, but each to their own," Alan Cowdrey said, emerging from the stuffy hall and crossing the garden to where the stricken phone lay. The other man leant down, picked it up and handed it back to Clive. "I'm afraid it's beyond repair." When Alan took his hand away, Clive nearly snapped again. Barely visible for the spider-web of cracks but still just able to be made out, was the picture of Billy and Martha. He swallowed and stuffed the smashed phone into his pocket. The two men stood in complete silence until Clive sighed, turned and walked back into the hall.

He found Harriet quickly and was surprised to see she was still talking to his mother. Outside in the garden, the last few minutes had lasted forever for Clive, but it seemed like it was nowhere near as long for anyone else, because no one – except from maybe Alan Cowdrey – had noticed he was gone. Not his mother, not his wife – no, only the best man who was the only man was the one who noticed.

Clive moved swiftly across the room and when he was beside Harriet, he slipped his arm around her back and kissed her on the cheek. "Oh, Clive, your mother was telling me about the time you won the school rowing competition." He smiled and listened politely as his mother continued to relay events that occurred to him far too long ago for them to be of any consequence to him now.

...

**Apr 24****th ****2019  
6.40 PM**

"Cat got your tongue, Clive?" Niamh Cranitch said when they finally locked eyes. Clive desperately flicked to the list of candidate someone had thoughtfully stapled to the back of his bundle of papers, underneath the pages and pages of questions and his own idle drawings. He scanned the list and then his eyes fell on the last name on the list. _Niamh Slade. _She'd only gone and got married and he hadn't recognised her name. And Slade. Didn't he recognise that name?

"Niamh," he managed to get out, attempting but failing to sound calm and collected. Both the women in the room saw through his pathetic attempt. Clive wondered what it was about fate and life that meant that in that people he used to know were starting to appear everywhere - first Martha at the bail hearing and now Niamh at the interviews. "you got married," he stated, simply, after a short pause for thought.

"So did you," she replied, as cool as anything. "Your wife seems nice."

"I'm sure your husband is too," Clive replied, pathetically, because he couldn't think of anything else, despite the fact he'd never met Niamh's husband. Maybe he had somewhere, though – maybe he was a lawyer or someone, who Clive had gone against in court at some point in time. Slade. He was sure he recognised the name from somewhere.

"You didn't think that when he was here," Niamh said, sitting down in the seat across from them. Here? What did she mean by here? Then it hit him, who 'Slade' was.

"You married _him_? That pupil - oh, what was his name?" Clive searched his memory for the name of Martha's pupil all those years ago. "Daniel?" he offered, before realising that was the name of the pupil Martha had had after Niamh and the bloke Clive couldn't remember the name of. What he could remember, however, was the he had no charm in the courtroom and he distinctly remembered predicting, at least to himself, that he'd never make it as a lawyer. Then Niamh's husband's name came to him just as suddenly as whom Slade was in the first place had. "Nick." That was his name. "You married Nick?"

"Yes," Niamh answered, calmly. "Are you ready to start the interview?" Niamh addressed her next words to Jenny and it was then Clive actually remembered the other woman was still in the room.

"Of course," Jenny said, just as calmly as Niamh. Clive gave a cough and composed himself. He could feel both the women in the room smirking at him as he took a sip of water.

...

**Jun 14****th**** 2017  
11.34 PM**

Leaving Harriet asleep in the bed, Clive padded across the room and into the bathroom. He pulled the door shut behind him and he slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor, his head thumping from the mixture of too much alcohol and loud music. He pulled his phone out of his pyjama bottom's pocket – placed there a few minutes earlier, moved from the bedside table. A blue glow soon illuminated the plush bathroom – he and Harriet were currently staying in one of the best hotels money could buy.

He sat, his legs starting to cramp because of his uncomfortable position, staring the screen of his phone. He gave up after five minutes, standing and stretching his legs out. He knew it was stupid of his to think that Martha would reply, but then again, Clive knew that on some occasions, he could be very stupid. Quite often, he knew, when it came to Martha.

He set his phone down next to the sink and splashed water onto his face, the cold refreshing after the stuffy reception and then the stuffy hotel room. As he turned to leave the bathroom, he realised he'd left his phone. He moved back and was about to pick it up when it made a muffled ping. Clive snatched the phone up.

He didn't have to move a muscle, not that he probably could. The message was written across the screen.

_Martha  
I've always said you make a maudlin drunk_

And that was it. Clive closed his eyes. She'd replied. He opened the bathroom door and replaced the phone on the bedside table before crossing to the mini-bar on the other side of the room. He opened it, attempting to be quiet, but the alcohol he'd had earlier was making him graceless and inept and he knocked a few bottles as he removed the one he was after. As he took the lid off the miniature bottle of champagne, a voice called out from the bed.

"Clive, what are you doing?"

"Drinking. Do you want some champagne?"

...

**Apr 24****th**** 2019  
7.02 PM**

Niamh had been gone for three minutes before Jenny spoke. "You know I can't let you pick her."

"Why not?" Clive asked, on the defensive. "We both know she was by far the best candidate."

"Yes," Jenny said, a little impatiently. "but you shagged her. And now, Clive, we don't want to be accused of favouritism, do we? So you're going to pick Hector Gregory and I'm going to pick Niamh. We can't ask Harriet to choose because she'll pick Gregory, so we're going to say that whilst you objected to the decision, we eventually came to the conclusion that Niamh Slade was the best candidate."

Clive's cheeks burned. "You knew about...about that?"

"What, you and Niamh sleeping together? Everyone knew," Jenny replied, calmly. "Are we in agreement, Clive?" He nodded after a moment and then Jenny stood up, nodding also.

Jenny left the room first, quickly followed by Clive.

...

**Apr 24****th**** 2019  
7.05 PM**

Harriet hadn't been very happy at the decision to choose Niamh over Hector Gregory, but she didn't openly criticise the choice. Clive had quietly explained afterwards that he'd initially wanted Gregory, but that Jenny had put up a good argument for hiring Niamh, so they had gone with her in the end.

Harriet abated, Clive left the room and found Niamh in the next room, a smile on her face, sitting at a desk in the same space where Kate's desk had been. It had been Lachlan's desk, placed there soon after Clive had become Head of Chambers. The space where Martha's desk had been was empty – his unacknowledged memorial of the woman who sat there for more than a decade. Only Martha Costello was worthy of sitting at that desk, and therefore no one else ever could.

Clive crossed the room and sat at his own desk, which was opposite to Niamh's new desk. He felt strange seeing her after all this time and he couldn't work out if it was a good strange or not. He figured that maybe it wasn't, with all the upheaval already in his life, more wasn't likely to help.

"So how long have you Head of Chambers, then?" Niamh asked, smiling at him.

"Five years," Clive replied, folding his arms across his chest.

"What happened to Alan Cowdrey?"

"He got his shoulder tapped. I hear he's quite a successful judge now," Clive answered, nodding his head slowly.

"Oh." Niamh sighed, leaning back in her chair. "I think it's quite strange, really," Clive frowned, wondering what direction their conversation was about to go in. "how much Nick and I ended up reflecting those we were taught by." When their eyes met, Niamh was still smiling but Clive was still frowning, not quite understanding the meaning of her last comment. "You're a prosecutor, I'm a prosecutor. Nick's a defence barrister, Martha was a true dyed-in-the-wool defence barrister." She paused. "Still _is_ a defence barrister, I think." Clive gave a small nod. "Is that why she left? You were going prosecution and she didn't agree with it?"

Clive smiled sadly, his own memory stuck on how disappointed in him she looked when himself and Harriet explained their plans for chambers. He knew Martha wouldn't like it, wouldn't agree to it, and yet he never fully understood what that would mean for him and their friendship. It was obvious really what the only course of action Martha could take and she did. She left. It was the only thing she could have done. There was no way Martha Costello would become a prosecutor; it was out of the question, so why did Clive bring about the change that pushed her out of the door for the final time, knowing this? Knowing what the consequences were. The answer was he never considered that Martha wouldn't stay. But she didn't and here they were, five years on, barely able to talk more than a sentence to each other without it sounding fake or without spiralling into anger.

"Yeah," Clive answered, wishing he could say something different – mainly that Martha hadn't left at all, but what was the point in pretending?

"And Billy too?" He froze at the mention of the clerk, knowing that she obviously didn't know the sad fate that had befallen him.

"He died, Niamh." Her face scrunched up in confusion and she was about to speak up, probably to say that no, Billy couldn't be dead because he _was _Shoe Lane, so how come here it was here without him? Clive smiled sadly at her again. "Prostate cancer got him about five years ago."

"Did you lose everyone five years ago?" Niamh replied and even though he knew she meant it as a joke, Clive couldn't help but hear the truth in the statement.

"Is Nick still as inept as he was all those years ago?" He knew it was cruel, but he was feeling a little angry at Niamh for her remark about losing everyone. He dressed it up as a joke but the intent was different to hers because he meant it to hurt her and it did.

"Nick is one of the best defence lawyers around," she replied, her tone much cooler and colder now and Clive knew it was his fault. Niamh suddenly stood up and crossed to the door without another word, but she paused in the doorway and turned back and spoke quietly but her words had far more impact that Clive could have thought.

"He did learn from the best."

...


	3. Chapter 3

_**a/n So chapter three here we come! Not sure when the next chapter will go up – whenever I get the chance to write, I guess. Things should start to calm down soon because my exams are coming to a close so I should have more time on my hands. And plus, it's like only a week till my birthday! :) **_

_**I hope you like this chapter and I'd love to hear your feedback. **_

_**I apologise in advance for any mistakes! **_

_Chapter 3_

**Mar 21****st**** 2014  
8.57 PM**

"I love Shoe Lane," Clive started. It was still sinking in really, but he needed to make this speech because that was what they all wanted, what they all demanded. Harriet was beaming at him as he continued. "and I want all of you to come with me as we move forward into a new stage in our history: prosecuting." He paused to take in the reactions of those around him. "I know we can do it and I am as sure as I've ever been that years from now we will all look back together on this moment as the springboard into a brighter and better future." He smiled at the assembled crowd and then it finally sunk in. He was Head of Chambers. Clive had done it. Head of Chambers. "Thank you."

He smiled again and met Harriet's gaze for a second, before he felt a hand on his arm. Clive looked around and saw Billy, his face clouded by what looked like worry and for a moment, he felt so very sorry for clerk. Things were going to have to change around here and with Billy in his current condition, would he be able to? But then the joy at making it to Head of Chambers overwhelmed him – which was quite cruel, really - but as result he wasn't anticipating Billy's hushed words. "Where's Martha?" Clive instantly turned his gaze to the place where she'd been sitting but Billy was right. Martha was gone. The two men shared a glance. There was an uncomfortable feeling in Clive's stomach.

"We need to find her."

"Don't you want to enjoy your success a little longer, sir?" Billy asked, but Clive had the feeling both men knew the decision had already been made. They'd known each other so long that they knew each other far too well for either of their likings, but it couldn't be helped.

"Billy, where do you think-" Clive started, but before he could get any further, he was interrupted.

"Clive! Congratulations. We did it!" Harriet announced, clapping him on the back. "Don't look so miserable," she added after a moment, seeing both their anxious faces.

"Martha's gone," Clive pointed out, after a second passed.

"So what? She probably knew you were going to make Head of Chambers and didn't want to stick around to see it happen," Harriet dismissed out of hand and Clive and Billy shared another look.

"Look, Harriet," Billy began. "Martha's not like that. This is wrong. We need to find her. I'm worried-"

"Does Martha even matter anymore?" It took Clive a few seconds to actually believe that Harriet had said those words and seemed to truly want an answer. "She's got no future here anymore if she refuses to take prosecution work," Harriet replied, sounding irritated. "She's of no use to us anymore."

"Martha always matters," Clive hit back, angry at how Martha had been discarded by Harriet just because she wasn't a prosecutor. She was still a person and as every second ticked by and she didn't reappear, Clive got more and more worried for her safety. He knew that Sean's trial and the guilty verdict weighed heavily on her mind and he knew he should have asked her if she was okay, because he was getting the impression now that she wasn't.

"I don't think, Harriet, you understand how much Shoe Lane means to all of us. It's not just work, its family," Billy informed her, give her a sardonic smile afterwards. "Martha is family."

...

**Apr 25****th**** 2019  
7.15 AM**

"Niamh Slade's starting today." They were sitting in the car at traffic lights five minutes from chambers when Harriet spoke. They were the first words they'd spoke to each other all morning, which, admittedly, was a new record even for them – but trust her for it to be about work. They never talked about themselves anymore, about their relationship. It all just got swept under the carpet, their happiness caught in the crossfire, an innocent bystander. There was no reason for them to keep going like this – both of then miserable – and yet they kept going through the motions, day after day. Get up. Go to work. Come home. At all costs avoid talking about anything personal. It was not normal, it wasn't healthy and yet neither own of them did a thing to stop it.

The traffic lights changed colour and he eased the car forward. Harriet was sitting, staring straight out of the windscreen at the horizon stretching out in front of them. A sudden thought hit Clive.

This woman was his wife and yet he hardly knew her at all.

...

**Apr 25****th**** 2019  
8.17 AM**

The court building was silent when Clive arrived. He knew he shouldn't be here, that he should have stayed at Shoe Lane and gone over the Louise McAdams brief over and over in preparation for the trial that started tomorrow, but he couldn't resist it.

Sure enough, when Clive got there, Martha was sitting in exactly the same spot she'd been sitting in the day before when he'd run into her after he'd come out of his money laundering trial. She was now furiously scribbling onto a sheet of paper with the same focused look in her eye that she always got in the days leading up to trials and then during them too.

"Peace offering?" he said, softly, proffering cup of coffee while allowing himself a small smile. He was well aware their conversation the day before had ended very badly but he desperately wanted to cling onto the tatters of their friendship – if, indeed, there were any tatters to hold on to. Maybe they'd all been blown away by the wind the last five years of silence. Maybe there was no point holding onto the past when you'd already moved on. That didn't mean he wouldn't try.

She looked up at him, blinking, and then gave him a small smile in return. Martha took his coffee and Clive breathed a sigh of relief. After she took her first sip, he sat down next to her. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, quietly. Martha took the lid off of her coffee and blew on it, steam pluming over the rim and drifting away. "For yesterday. For getting angry," he added, leaning his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands. "I wasn't expecting ever to see you again," It was the truth, he hadn't, and yet here they were. Life had an unnerving habit of always doing what he didn't expect. "and I'd only just got my head around that," He sighed. "when you come back again."

"Sorry," she replied, before she took another sip of her coffee. Clive, at a loss for what to do, took a sip of his own drink. "Clive, I-" she started, sharply turning to face him, before seemingly thinking better of it and turning back, abruptly stopping mid-sentence.

"My wedding day," Clive said, after he'd placed his steaming cup onto the ground because it was burning his hand. "what I said."

"Let's not talk about that." She flashed him a smile and Clive's heart ached for the days when Martha and her smile were a real, tangible part of his life, not just a flitting shadow like she was now. He was just about to say something when his phone started ringing, gaining him a few dirty glares from people around them and a bemused look from Martha.

"Sorry," he apologised, before hitting the accept call button and putting the phone to his ear.

"Clive?" He sighed and leant his head back on the wall behind him.

"Yes, Harriet?" he replied, irritation creeping into his tone. He could tell Martha could hear it too.

"Where are you?" she snapped.

"Court."

"You're not due in court until five." He nearly cursed but bit his tongue.

"I'm having coffee with a friend then," he replied, his temper miraculously still in check. He vaguely realised how much like a half-arsed excuse it sounded like and yet it was the truth. Or at least, he was having what he'd thought was coffee when he'd bought it but now he was drinking it, it tasted just like boiling water with a woman who used to be his best friend in the world and was now little more than a stranger. So, really it was half truth.

"Oh," Harriet said, and Clive realised for the second time that day that they were making each other miserable. He shook his head. What were they doing still together when they were so unhappy and had been so unhappy for so long? They had been happy, once, but now, those times were distant memories and no comfort every night they slept alone. "Clive, I don't think we're working," she said quietly. It took him a long moment to understand what she had said because it took him by surprise. It took him even longer to actually believe that she'd actually formed those words and said them aloud. Before he could reply, however, Harriet ended the call.

It took him what seemed to be an age to drop the phone to his side after his wife's last words. He felt numb and he couldn't work out if that was good or bad. He knew that what Harriet had said, finally facing up to the truth, was a good thing, really. Clive was glad he wasn't the only one to have realised that their current situation, with things going the way they were, was impossible. He just hoped that when he next saw Harriet they'd both have the courage to say what they meant.

Martha sitting next to him, however, was a startling reminder that when it came to feelings and saying what he meant, Clive was a hopeless coward, always scared of rejection. But then again, walking in the ruins of their marriage like they were, there wasn't really any chance of being rejected. They both wanted out, he was almost certain, so why had it taken them this long to be able to say it out loud?

He put his head in his hands again. "Fuck, Martha, I've been miserable without you." Clive's words even took himself by surprise because he had once again forgotten to think about his words before he said them. It was the truth, however, but with his new friendship with Martha only in its fledgling phase, it was not a good thing to admit. No, scratch that, admitting things about Martha was never a good plan because it only led to further heartache. He felt the compulsion to explain his words. "You were my best friend for nearly twenty years and then you were gone, just like that." He paused, trying not to glance at Martha because he knew the moment he did that, he wouldn't be able to say another word. "You're one of a kind, Martha Costello."

"Oh, yeah, Clive?" she said, and for a second, a fraction of a second, he could have been back in time. The slight teasing note in her voice was so very reminiscent of a time in the past when she'd joke and tease him and they were comfortable with each in a way he was only dreaming about now. Five years and miles of distance between them had separated them, but it hadn't changed them, not at heart. Inside, they were still the same Martha and Clive they used to be. It gave him hope that soon, things between them would be at the same stage they were before she'd left. If she wanted to go back there.

"Definitely," he replied, quietly. They slipped into silence but Clive didn't mind because he was fine just sitting next to her. After all the years of wilderness when he didn't have her, he was happy just being near her. He picked up his now tepid watery coffee and took a sip.

After a moment, Martha's phone buzzed and she glanced the screen. "I've got to go. Client wants to see me." Clive gave a nod, but hid inside how sad he was that their moment was over. She gathered her stuff together and took a final swig from her coffee. She went to walk off but then turned back. "Please don't be miserable for my sake." Martha stood in front of him, looking like she was about to add something, for a good few seconds, before she turned on her heels and left and soon she was swallowed by the crowd and Clive could no longer see her anymore.

...

**Mar 21****st**** 2014  
8.59 PM **

They were all gathered in Clive and Martha's office now, and he felt far more disconnected from the loud voices and celebrations going on in the next room than the walls should have.

"Has anyone actually tried calling her?" Harriet asked, still sounding irritated.

"Yes," Billy answered. The clerk was sitting at Martha's desk, a pensive look on his face and Clive wondered not for the first time if everything was alright with the other man. Well, everything wasn't alright – he was dying after all, something Clive was really struggling to get his mind around – but apart from that, something else seemed to be taking his mind away from the matter at hand. "She didn't answer."

Clive, who was standing in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, was feeling jumpy and nervous and suddenly he snapped. "I'm going to find her," he said, pushing the door open and moving through the rooms until he hit fresh air, ignoring Harriet's calls for him to say where he was so they could talk more about what they should do. To Clive it was obvious what they should do. They needed to look for Martha because every second that passed and she didn't turn up, the more he felt like something was dreadfully wrong.

Clive had a feeling that whatever tonight's outcome, everything was about to change, if it already hadn't.

He thought that maybe, they were already far too gone.

...

**Apr 25****th**** 2019  
9.14 PM **

Court had dragged on for hours that afternoon and Clive was shattered when he finally walked through the doors to his home. He hung up his coat on the hook by the back door and then he took a second to compose himself, knowing that if he missed this vital step, he would inevitably lose his temper very quickly. After a second, he pushed open the door and walked into the kitchen.

Harriet was sitting at the table, an empty plate and glass sitting in front of her. She didn't move a muscle when he came in. "Your dinner's on the side." And so it was. It was the usual Marks and Spencer's ready-meal type food but it all looked bland to Clive as he carried his plate over to the table and sat down next to his wife, who had come to life and was checking her phone, the little screen lighting up her face with an eerie white glow.

Clive ate his food in silence, which admittedly was how he ate the majority of his meals at home these days – sometimes he switched the radio on, but only when Chelsea were playing and Harriet wasn't there, because she'd been brought up in a household full of diehard Fulham fans. It had been the source of many jovial arguments and jokes early on in their relationship but, like everything else, they no longer talked about football.

When he'd finished his meal, he was surprised that Harriet was still sitting next to him, because usually, she'd be long gone now – either into the living room or upstairs for a shower or to read in bed. Things were different today and Clive knew why.

"I don't make you happy, do I?" He was the first to speak, seizing upon on the fact that they were still in the same room as each other – something that, these days, hardly ever happened – and making it count, by finally talking about the state they'd let their relationship spiral into. Slowly, realising how much of a pivotal moment this was, Harriet nodded and in that second, Clive saw the final remains of their marriage fall away. He felt free, which felt cruel, but when he saw Harriet's face, and the relief reflected there, he knew it wasn't.

"And I don't make you happy, either." Harriet spoke gently and Clive felt glad that their marriage hadn't ended with shouting and angry recriminations and tears. No, they let go gracefully, with respect for one another and in that moment he had never loved his wife more – and had never loved her more as a friend.

"Harriet..." He trailed off when she put her hand on his arm and smiled sadly at him. A second later, with a slight clatter, her wedding ring was sitting between them. Clive stared at it, not quite daring to believe the finality that that action had, the condemnation it wreaked on their marriage.

"I want to be happy, Clive, and I want you to be happy, but us and this marriage," She gestured at the both of them. "isn't making us happy. That's not saying we weren't happy, I'm just saying that now, right now, it would be better for the both of us if we split up." He nodded and suddenly, he couldn't resist the urge to smile. But Harriet was frowning and he got the feeling that she wasn't finished speaking. She sighed deeply and put her head in her hands. "But Clive..." She sounded upset and it was his turn to frown. "Things aren't quite that simple." Again he was confused, Harriet sounded on the verge of tears.

"I'm pregnant."

...

**Mar 21****st**** 2014  
9.02 PM**

The cold air was refreshing as it hit his face. He was standing outside Shoe Lane, waiting for either Billy or Harriet to emerge. He thought that Billy would be out by now, if he was being honest, because he'd seemed the most concerned about Martha's disappearance, but then again, he and Harriet were probably having yet another pointless argument.

He wanted so much to start off on his own, but he didn't want them to have to search for him as well as Martha. So he stayed where he was; worry eating at him, fear creeping up his spine and dread swirling in his stomach, because he didn't know where Martha was.

A moment passed and then the door swung open. Harriet walked out and instantly Clive could tell she'd rather be somewhere else. Neither of them said a word before Billy came out too, and it was obvious to Clive that they'd just spent the last few minutes arguing. "Let's go." Billy said, loudly, clapping his hands together.

Clive led the way.

...

**Apr 25****th**** 2019  
9.15 PM**

He sat in stunned silence for a long moment, all his thoughts stilled.

"Clive?" she asked, her voice shaky. His head snapped up and he and Harriet met gazes. His mouth felt like sandpaper and he couldn't fully take in what she was telling him. After all the upheaval in his life over the last few days, after the reminders of a time he wanted to forget, after they had must admitted their marriage was dead, Harriet was telling him she was having a baby?

He stood up, all ungainly and stiff. "I can't..." he said, shaking his head, slowly. "I just..." He turned his back on her, blinking hard and quickly he walked down the hall to the front door. His mind was completely blank, he couldn't process the knowledge that he was going to be a father.

He flung the door open and breathed in deeply as the warm evening air drifted over him. His head was suddenly pounding and he felt so tired, but suddenly, he knew exactly where he had to go, who he had to talk to. It was instinct, as opposed to an actual conscious decision, that moved his feet as he walked away.

...

**Apr 25****th**** 2019  
9.48 PM**

He didn't know why he was here, only that he had had some sort of compulsion to come here. He'd walked here, on auto-pilot, and he wasn't sure how he'd managed to make it– he hadn't even consciously known the way.

He stared at the flight of stairs going down to the doorway, where the light was on, burning into the back of his eyes. He smiled sadly as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He found her number slowly and then put the phone to his ear as it rang out. He wondered if she still had the same number. Well, in a few seconds, he'd find out.

"Martha Costello."

"I'm standing outside your old house and for a few minutes I was wondering why your car isn't outside. Then I realised _that_ _you don't live here anymore_." His voice was trembling and he couldn't stop it. He waited with baited breath for Martha's reply.

"What's wrong, Clive?" Her voice was kind and he could tell she was actually concerned for him.

"Can I come in?"

"You don't know where I live," Martha replied, quietly, understanding Clive's plea completely. He needed her in this moment as a friend, not as anything more. He needed his friend, the friend she used to be, the friend who was always there for him. He missed her so bloody much.

"Tell me then," he asked, as close to begging as Clive Reader ever got. A moment later she told him, obviously realising that right now, right at this moment, he was in a bad place and he needed his friend.

...

**Apr 25****th**** 2019  
10.02 PM**

He was standing outside her new house now, staying completely still because he didn't know what to do. His mind was still completely blank but his chest hurt, his heart aching. It had started to rain at some point during Clive's walk. It had taken him ten minutes to get here and for the last few minutes he'd just stood here, watching and waiting. For what, he wasn't sure. The rain was chilling him and making him cold but he didn't mind. It took his mind off why he was here, taking the edge off the pain.

The door opened slowly and then he saw her, silhouetted in the doorway. He took a few steps forward, until the glow from within covered his head and shoulders and he could see her eyes and the confusion in them. Clive took another step closer, until he was on her doorstep and then he looked up at her. Their eyes met and Clive realised that every time, two years of marriage and four years of being a couple would always be beaten hands down by twenty years of friendship. Martha would always beat Harriet. He didn't think into that too much.

As he stood in front of her, he realised the moment he dreaded, actually confronting the reason he was here. Maybe it was good that the rain had numbed his senses. "I'm going to be a father." He spoke quietly, in respect to the fact that she might not want him to come in, might not want to be burdened by his problems. In the past, she would have always let him but now, he had no clue.

Wordlessly, she turned to the side, allowing the drowning man on her doorstep to enter and find refuge inside.

And he did.

...

**Mar 21****st**** 2014  
9.04 PM**

It could have only been a few minutes since they'd set off, but it felt like eternity. This whole evening, in fact, had felt like it had lasted far longer than it actually had. Billy and Harriet were behind him now, but only because of the fact he was walking much faster them, driven by a feeling that they needed to find Martha soon or else something bad was going to happen to her. Clive wasn't sure why he thought that, but he knew that losing Sean's trial had had a much bigger effect on her than he'd anticipated and he was certain that despair had lead her to re-evaluate her life and where it was going. He just hoped she didn't make any important decisions tonight, when the pain was still raw and aching and she was prone to making impulsive and reckless decisions. The truth was he didn't want Martha to make a choice about her future that moved her on in her life but left him behind – he knew it was self-centred, but he couldn't help it. There were far, far too many words left unsaid between them.

"Martha?" he called out into the dark, stopping to wait for a reply while the blood pounded in his ears. "Marth?" No reply came and he'd never felt so disappointed in his life. He turned back and looked at Harriet and Billy, who were coming up behind him. Billy, the dying man, was struggling to walk and another blow hit Clive. What the bloody hell would he do with himself if they never found Martha and Billy died?

Who would there be who knew the 'real' Clive Reader, as Martha had once called him? No one - that was the answer. He wasn't even sure himself if he knew what the real him was like because he almost never listened to his heart – and hardly ever did what it wanted even when he did. Clive never liked to do what others told him to; even when it was his own heart doing the talking, the telling, the begging.

He turned away, his thoughts depressing him. "Martha?" he called again.

But there was no reply and it nearly killed him.

...

**Apr 25****th**** 2019  
10.00 PM **

They were sitting on her sofa in silence and the silence hurt more than anything. It was a gap that could seemingly not be breached and it nearly killed him. Silence was quite capable of making him feel like that.

"Coffee?" she asked, quietly, breaking the oppressive silence just as it seemed that neither of them ever would. He nodded slowly and Martha got up, leaving the room and Clive took the opportunity to scrutinise her new home. He could tell she hadn't been living in it for a long time, because there were still boxes, full, sitting in the corners. The whole place, however, already felt lived in and he wondered how Martha did it. Her old home felt like this only a matter of hours after she'd moved in and Clive would know – because he'd helped her to move in.

It had been a time when they much younger than they were now and a time when their friendship was in a much better place. They'd known each about three years by that time, and he was still hell-bent on getting her into bed. They'd spent the whole time flirting as they carried the boxes in and emptied their contents in her home. It was after that that she'd told him never in a million years she'd become another one of his conquests – for he already had a reputation as a ladies' man even then.

She'd been wrong about that but then again he'd been wrong about things too. About so many things.

When he'd first met Martha, he'd never thought she had the right stuff to be a lawyer, had predicted in his head that she'd never make it past the first month. He'd been wrong about that. He'd thought he'd get Martha into bed with him within the first year. Then the second. Then the third. He'd been wrong about that too. It took him seventeen years and an exceptionally unlikely not guilty verdict to get her into bed. It would take him forever and a day to get her to stay there.

He thought he wouldn't cry when Billy died. He'd been wrong about that as well. He thought that he and Harriet would always dance around the subject that was how miserable they were, and stay married until the end of time – because both of them were cowards underneath it all. He was wrong about that too. And finally, he thought Martha was his friend and that he loved her as such. He was wrong, so very wrong, about that.

To sum it all up, there was a lot that Clive Reader was wrong about.

The door creaked open and Martha appeared, holding two cups of coffee. He watched silently as she shuffled over to him and set his drink down on the table.

"I hope it's alright. I think I remembered how you had it but I might be wrong," Martha explained, before taking a sip of her own drink. He took a tentative sip. It was exactly right.

"You got it perfect," he replied, staring into his drink because he didn't think he could look at her. He wanted to but he thought that if he looked at her he might cry. Clive didn't cry, however with the emotional turmoil he had suffered over the last few days, he thought that maybe, the cracks were showing and he couldn't cope anymore with the oh so solid wall of emotional repression he had been taught to live with, that he'd grown up with.

If he knew anything about the child his wife was pregnant with, it was that he wouldn't inflict such a thing on him or her. No child should grow up thinking that feeling things was wrong and that feelings should be crushed and destroyed, ignored, because if they were, there was a chance, being their father's child, they might end up like him – unable to form the words to say what he felt, unable to create a lasting love with another human being. His one experience with marriage had ended earlier this evening, a failed exercise in mistake after mistake.

"Why are you here, Clive?" she asked, quietly, sounding so tired.

"I want my friend back," he admitted. For moment he was unsure if she'd heard him.

"I'm not sure if she exists anymore, Clive." He could almost feel his heart break at her words, at her quiet, hesitant admission that things might not be as easy to fix as he wanted, as he dreamed. Maybe she did to, but he didn't know – he still thought knew her as well as the back of his hand, but he could no longer read her and that made him doubt that he really knew her anymore. Five years did things to people. Underneath they might still be the same people, but since when did they let ever let people see underneath?

"I hope to god she does, Marth, because I miss her like hell," he replied, before he took another sip of his coffee. "I miss you."

"Things change."

"Martha Costello doesn't change."

She put her drink down on the table, it banging loudly against the wood. "Clive, I don't..." She trailed off, staring into the distance.

"My marriage ended today," He didn't know what he was saying or why he was, but he couldn't stop himself. "because I don't love her." Clive shrugged. "And then she told me she was pregnant, you know what instantly what I thought? I need to talk to Martha about this." He let his words sink in. "Because you are my friend, I tell you everything. You always point me towards the light. So you're right when you say things change. But some things don't. This doesn't change - _you're my best friend._" He put his cup down next to hers and turned to face her, swallowing, knowing that he had to look at her, face up to the fact that, yes, things were different, but they needed to accept that and move on.

She was too important to him for him to let her go again. Once was a mistake, twice would be stupid. Clive didn't want to be stupid. He wanted to hold up his hands, admit that in those last few days and weeks five years ago he was short-sighted, that he made mistakes, that he was an idiot, and be forgiven. He wanted Martha to forgive him. He needed her to. He held his breath as he waited for her reply, sitting in her living room, knowing that in a breath she could save him or break his heart. Clive knew which he'd prefer.

...


	4. Chapter 4

_**a/n Hello! Long time no see, eh? Well, here chapter four is! Before you ask, no I don't know how long it will be until the next chapter will be written but I hope that it will be sooner rather than later, but my life is quite hectic at the moment but I'll try!**_

_**I hope you like this chapter and reviews are gladly appreciated. :) **_

_Chapter 4_

**Apr 25****th**** 2019  
10.02 PM**

Martha stood up, her limbs looking jerky and out of control as she stumbled to the door. When she got there, she turned back, her hand resting on the door handle. She swallowed and Clive waited, his heart pounding in his chest.

"I missed you too." Her voice sounded raw, as if it pained her to say those words, and from the look on her face it had been a struggle. They both knew that speaking the truth was difficult, but Clive hadn't really anticipated how hard to would be for Martha. He guessed that maybe it was because he stayed here, in London, at Shoe Lane, with reminders of the past hiding everywhere; in gloomy court rooms and chambers corners, whereas she moved halfway across the country, away from him and the memories of their friendship, so now when it came down to framing the words that she wanted to say – the truth – it was that much harder for her.

She wouldn't meet his eye no matter how long he stared at her and he wondered if this really was the watershed moment he had thought it would be. Martha finally turned back to the door and opened it, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He wondered what would happen when she returned, given that she'd return at all.

...

**Sept 2****nd**** 1995  
7.12 AM**

Clive was nervous, not that he'd admit it because he didn't do nervous. He kept moving his hands like they were stuck on repeat like a broken television. The seat he was sitting on was comfortable but it did nothing to relieve him of the nervousness that was burning through him, setting him on fire. He wondered if today he'd crash and burn or if he'd actually be okay. Four years at university learning all the tricks of the trade and here he was, finally putting them to practise.

He'd met Alan Cowdrey a few weeks ago, when he'd interviewed for this pupillage. Clive had been bursting with confidence after that because it had gone so well but it was all gone now, as he waited for his pupilmaster to put in an appearance. He was aware that there was another pupil starting today as well as him and due to how small the chambers were, they would both have Alan Cowdrey as their pupilmaster and he'd been more than a little put-out at that revelation, but Alan Cowdrey was very highly regarded in the world as law and he couldn't pass up an opportunity at a chambers like this.

He'd wondered about the other pupil and whether he would be a real rival for the tenancy here. Clive's old university lecturer had always told him that if there were two pupils at the same chambers at the same time, the only outcome would be that either one or neither get tenancy. Hardly ever would both of them would get it because in law it was damn hard to earn your place.

Clive knew he had to get the tenancy, because otherwise it would be seen as an embarrassment to his family and he couldn't be doing with that, not with all the pressure his father had put on him to change his mind and do a finance degree, before joining his father, working at the family bank. Clive had been almost suicidally stubborn, because crossing his father was not an advisable thing to do if he didn't want to be ostracised by his family.

Therefore, he had to prove himself here or his father would never forgive him. Though, if Clive was being honest, he didn't really care if his father no longer gave a damn. It really didn't make a blind bit of difference. What he did mind, however, was the fact that if he became estranged from his family, he wouldn't ever be able to see his mother anymore.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps on the stairs behind his head. He looked up and clasped his hands together when he saw Alan Cowdrey coming down towards him. "Mr Reader, good morning," he said, as he got to the bottom of the stairs. It had surprised him how young Alan Cowdrey was when they first met. Only just forty, still with a full head of hair, he hadn't been what Clive had expected from the man's reputation, but it had been a refreshing surprise.

He had just stood up to shake Alan Cowdrey's hand when the double doors to the right of him opened and a man Clive didn't recognise sauntered through the doors, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He had a laid-back air to him, but there was more than a tinge of the self-centred about the way he carried himself, like he expected everyone in the room to look at him when he entered. The thing was, he managed to make it work. He had a sort of magnetism that drew you to him - he demanded your attention in a way Clive had only seen in his father command before. Clive frowned, puzzled, at how this man could have such an air of importance and yet he couldn't be more than thirty.

Clive was too busy concentrating on the man it took him a long moment to notice the young girl who had followed him in. She was clutching a pile of books to her chest and her face was set in glare of steely determination. Again he frowned. Who were these people?

"I caught this one having a smoke outside," the man said, gesturing at the girl and addressing Alan Cowdrey with such ease it was obvious they had a friendship that went back years. "Had the jitters, I think," he continued, but despite that fact that the man with no name could have sounded cruel in what he was saying, Clive could hear a playful note and this was further backed up by his next words. "A girl after my own heart, this one," he added, walking forward and past Clive and Alan Cowdrey to the bottom the stairs. "I think this one's a keeper."

"You shouldn't say that, Billy," Cowdrey admonished, but his tone was light. "We wouldn't want to be accused of favouritism, now would we?"

"The bar is always in need of new, fresh female barristers instead of those bitter old hags that we're stuck with. You and I both know that, Alan," the man Clive now knew was called Billy called down as he started climbing the stairs. With a sense of realisation, he understood that the girl standing in front of him, with her wild blonde hair and steely gaze, was the other pupil. It shouldn't have come as that much as a surprise, but Clive had just assumed it would have been a man.

The first lesson Clive learned as a pupil at Shoe Lane? The bar is always in need of female barristers who will not turn into bitter old hags.

The second thing? Never assume anything.

...

**Apr 25****th**** 2019  
10.13 PM**

Martha still hadn't returned and Clive had used the time to get comfortable on the sofa and then, when he'd done that, he'd started to have a little look around her living room. There was nothing out of place, nothing that he wouldn't have expected to see in her old home. He'd nearly finished looking around the room when he saw it, almost hidden behind a stack of books, toppled over, in box in the furthest corner from the sofa. For a long moment, he couldn't pick it up, scared that if he did so, it would shatter into a million pieces or it would disappear in a puff of smoke, but soon he couldn't resist. It was a photo, taken so many years ago now, on his and Martha's very first day at Shoe Lane. Alan Cowdrey stood between them and Billy was skulking in the corner, almost out of the shot, looking much younger than he had the last time Clive had seen him.

He rescued it from the box, tracing his thumb along the glass and around Martha's face. It was there, the glint of determination he always saw in her eyes in those first few months, when she had felt like it was her duty to prove herself to him, prove she wasn't a whimp who would drop out after a month or two. It had faded in intensity but that hadn't really meant a thing, it had already been ingrained into her very soul. If not to prove herself to Clive, to prove herself to the judges, her clients, other lawyers. Everyone needed to be convinced that the Bolton lass wasn't just all bark and no bite. Always needing to prove herself until everyone knew about Martha Costello and then no more proving was necessary.

The picture stirred emotions in his chest that he tried in vain in keep from flooding out but the picture was a catalyst and he just couldn't stop it. He felt the wave of sadness overwhelm him because tonight had made it so painfully clear to him that the golden years where over. Alan was a judge, Billy was dead and Martha... Martha was here but she could have been a million miles away because Clive wasn't sure it would have made a difference.

Oh, what a difference twenty years could make to a life. Friendships had been forged and had died in that time, relationships burned and then flickered out of life, love had been hidden away for far too long to be of any use.

The last revelation took Clive by surprise. Love. It was such a strange word. Only four letters, one syllable, and yet it could stir the deepest human emotions known to man – the need to care, to protect, to keep it in your arms and never let go. Love. One of the most basic human needs because there was no life without it, no joy. Love formed the backbone of society and yet so many people wouldn't say it, couldn't express it. People died for it and lived for it, buried it and embraced it. It was capable of breaking your heart or setting you free. Love was evasive but when you found it there was nothing better.

Four letters, one syllable. So fucking hard to say.

...

**Sept 2****nd**** 1995  
7.17 AM**

The three of them stood in silence as Billy, whose role Clive was yet to determine, vanished up the stairs. He glanced at Alan Cowdrey, but he looked like he was trying not to laugh or smirk. Then he turned to look at the girl who had followed Billy in – the other pupil. Clive still didn't know her name, but that was remedied a moment later by Alan Cowdrey speaking up.

"Clive Reader, meet Martha Costello." He took a step closer to Martha Costello and offered out his hand. She took it and they shook hands and Clive was surprised to see that she had a firm handshake. Alan Cowdrey nodded and then he moved past them to the doors, before turning back to address them. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted, then," he said, smiling at them. After a moment he pushed the door open and went through, leaving Clive and the other pupil – Martha – to 'get acquainted'.

He offered his hand out first and Martha had to juggle her books before she reached out with her own right hand and then, awkwardly, they shook hands. Clive, trying not to look like he was, glanced her up and down, noting that she was quite attractive but also realising that she looked full of grim determination – which, to Clive, was not a good combination. He eyed her warily, knowing that she was his competition for the tenancy here.

Martha took a step backwards, shuffling the books in her arms again and gazing at him with slight veiled contempt.

"Harrow or Eton?" Clive wasn't expecting her to speak, let alone in such a strong accent. It was definitely Northern, but exactly where, he couldn't place. Suddenly, he felt more confident about getting the tenancy. He knew it was wrong of him to judge her solely on her background, but he knew that it counted for a lot in the world of law. Staring at her, he didn't think she'd last a month at the bar. She couldn't be that bad, having got the pupillage here, but still, Clive doubted she'd ever make it as a lawyer.

But even as he passed his judgement of the woman standing in front of him, the glint of determination in her eyes troubled him.

"Sorry?" Clive replied, not quite understanding the question.

"Which was it - Harrow or Eton?" she hit back, her tone barely concealing the distaste she felt for both schools. Clive gave a cough, putting of the question, which was probably worse than just outright answering the question. The look on her face showed just how badly the two of them were going to get on. She went to speak but he got there first.

"Harrow," His tone was clipped and sharp. "Which means I must be a cocky, arrogant bastard, right?" He knew it was hypocritical; he'd judged her on her accent just moments before, but now it was her judging him about his background, he was instantly on the defensive.

She turned around, shaking her head and, moving the books in her arms once again, put her hand on the door, before turning to face him. "That seems about right." She turned back to the door and went through, leaving a fuming Clive behind.

...

**Apr 25****th**** 2019  
10.15**

He stared at the photograph for a long moment, wondering why, after everything that had happened, she'd kept this picture. Clive remembered that the first time they'd met, all those years ago, neither of them had left a very favourable impression on the other, both judging each other before they could get to know each other. Before the day had been out, however, they'd been able to look past their prejudices – Clive's that a girl from Bolton could never make it as a lawyer and Martha's that Clive, being rich and posh, had everything handed to him on a plate – and their friendship had blossomed. It had been further cemented the next day over drinks in the pub.

When the picture had been taken, their tentative friendship had been in its very early stages - only minutes old, truth be told – and it could be seen in their body language. It was strange to see the beginning right now, at this current moment in time, with Martha's words ringing in his ears, standing at the end.

Oh no, now wasn't the end - the end had come on a dark street in the dying days of May.

Now was...was what? The beginning of the second half of their story? Or was this the epilogue, the tying up of loose ends, and here they were on the last page, the final goodbyes? The last parting where there was no going back.

The end. Two words that could break his heart.

The door opened and Martha came back in.

...

**Sept 2****nd**** 1995  
12.34 PM**

Clive wasn't very hungry. He'd been on edge all day, - excitement and fear all rolling into one – not wanting to put a foot wrong and have his father proved right – that he'd 'never make it as a damned lawyer anyway' even if he did try. If here was one thing Clive was terrified of, it was letting his father down or, more precisely, letting the family name down. That was what his father worried about the most. It irritated Clive, if he was honest. He'd never really understood the obsession with having to do what's best for the family, as opposed to what he wanted to do. He shook his head and turned back to his sandwich.

Martha, the other pupil, was sitting on the other side of Alan Cowdrey's office – which was where they had been told to eat their lunch – poking at a salad half-heartedly. So it wasn't just Clive, after all.

They'd been sitting in silence for a good ten minutes, both trying to ignore each other as much as possible. They'd been doing it all day, after their less than ideal start. Clive hadn't quite made up his mind up about her, after all. She'd been alright so far, much more knowledgeable than he'd pegged her down to be – unfairly, it seemed now – and she'd asked some good questions. Maybe he did have a challenge on his hands, then.

He leant back in his chair as the door swung open and Billy – who Clive now knew was a clerk at the chambers – entered. He didn't seem to expect to find the two on them inside the office, judging by the surprise on his face, but then he broke out in a smile, clapping his hands together. "You two look miserable," he said, stating the obvious.

"Thanks," Martha replied, irritation creeping into her tone. Clive had a feeling she was someone who got irritated quite easily.

"It's the truth. You look like you can't stand each other," Billy added, sliding behind Alan's desk. "How are we finding today?" he asked, as Clive sat back in his seat, watching the clerk lean forward and stare at them.

"Okay," Martha answered, her face setting in what seemed to be her default look – a grimace of determination.

"Good," Clive replied, indulging himself in a shameless game of one-upmanship. Martha found it okay, he found it good. He knew it was petty but he couldn't help himself. He felt Martha's gaze fall on him and when he looked up she was staring at him, as Billy was, and the anger he was expecting wasn't there. Instead, there was a glimmer of amusement breaking through her grimace. Clive turned his head on the side and he realised that there was more to the girl sitting opposite him than he'd thought.

She interested him, he realised suddenly.

They're eyes met and for a long moment, neither of them looked away. When the moment was up, Clive realised he couldn't look away. It was a good thing, then, that she did first.

"You don't look quite so miserable anymore."

...

**Apr 25****th**** 2019  
10.16 PM **

He watched her carefully as she came through the door. He felt strange, because he had never felt this wary of Martha Costello, not at least since that very first day he met her. She was holding two bottles of beer and silently she handed one to him. He took it without a word, frowning slightly because he didn't know what it meant. Martha glanced down at the picture and then stopped in her tracks, sighing deeply.

"I hated you then," she said, softly into the dead silence.

"What about now?" he couldn't help but ask, as he turned the photo over, the ache of former happiness tugging at his heart and making him feel uncomfortable.

Martha didn't answer for long moment and Clive wondered what that meant. "She's still here." He felt like he'd missed something and Martha seemed to sense his confusion. "You asked me earlier where your friend went." She paused, staring down at the floor and taking a swig of beer. "I told you I didn't think she existed anymore. I was lying. She's still here." She turned away from him and sat down on the sofa. Clive put the photo down on the coffee table in front of Martha and she couldn't resist picking it up and looking at their young faces, just like he couldn't. Silently, he joined her on the sofa, taking a sip from his beer.

It could have been just like old times, except it wasn't that simple, even though Clive wished that it could be.

"So Harriet's pregnant?" The words sounded ugly and strange coming out of Martha's mouth but Clive couldn't deny the truth, especially since he'd already admitted it, so he nodded. "And that scares you?"

"Scares me? Why'd you say that?"

"Because you wouldn't be here if you weren't scared shitless, Clive." He couldn't help but smile at her blunt words. "You said your marriage ended...?" She trailed off and they met gazes. Martha put the picture of them down.

"We don't make each other happy. No, in fact we make each other damn miserable. We've been dancing around it for too long. It should have never got here."

"And yet it has," Martha replied, looking away. "Do you want to be a father?"

"Truthfully?" he answered, quietly. "I'm not sure." He sighed. "I did. When...you know," Clive continued, extremely unsure whether to bring Martha's pregnancy up this soon. Truth be told, they really needed to talk about it, because they never had when they really should have – but he was almost certain that this was not the right time. But his mouth just continued to talk when his brain was screaming at him to stop. It was an unfortunate habit he had.

"When what, Clive?" The way she looked at him made it clear that she knew exactly what he meant.

"When you were having my baby," he said, his voice feeling choked and thick. It had been three years and yet it hurt him to think about that day, and the dreadful events that had unfolded. "I should have-" He stopped suddenly, closing his eyes and swallowing. "I should have stopped him." Clive was unsure how they'd made it here – talking about the one thing they'd never talked about before; Martha's miscarriage.

"You couldn't have known," she replied softly. She took a sip of beer again and then flopped back on the sofa, putting her bare feet on the coffee table. "Would you like to play cards?" The question came out of the blue for Clive, who was surprised to hear that she sounded at ease – and so much like the Martha he used to know it make him feel sad and happy all at the same. Sad because he missed her so much and happy because he might just be getting her back.

"Cards?"

"Yeah."

"Cards."

"Yeah."

Clive went to speak.

"If you say cards again I'll throw this beer at you." He smiled and closed his eyes, savouring the moment because Martha was smiling at him and he hadn't seen her smile in so long. "I'll take that as a yes." She stood up, leaving her beer on the table, and took a step away.

"Martha?"

"Yeah?"

"I've missed you threatening me."

...

**2****nd**** Sept 1995  
7.21 PM**

"Smile!"

The camera's flash lit up Clive's vision and he smiled blankly at the nondescript little man who was holding the camera. He was lawyer here, if he remembered correctly what Alan Cowdrey had told him. What Clive knew as that he hadn't had to deal with him over his first day here.

He blinked and the little man had disappeared before Clive could ask him if he could get a copy of the picture. He wanted to send it to his parents – show them that he was getting along fine doing what he wanted to do. Alan Cowdrey turned to him and slapped him on the back.

"You're going to be fine, Clive," he said, and even though many people had already told him that he would be fine, it was the first time he really believed it and he took comfort from the fact that someone who was held in such high esteem in the world of law thought he was going to be fine.

Alan Cowdrey disappeared back into the building and the slight chill of the evening air hit Clive and he shivered. He looked behind him and saw Billy the clerk trying to hide the fact he was smoking. He saw Clive looking and sighed. He threw down his cigarette and stubbed it out with his heel. He got the impression the clerk was supposed to be working and not having a fag.

Clive stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned around, intending to go back into the warm when he saw that contrary to what he thought, he wasn't alone outside. Martha was standing a few metres away from him and he understood what Billy had meant earlier when he'd said she was a girl after his own heart.

Martha was trying to light a cigarette but she wasn't doing very well. The flame of her lighter kept going out, blown out by the wind as Clive took a step towards her. He reached out a hand and sheltered the dancing flame from the harsh wind and she managed to get it to the cigarette and light it.

"Thanks," she said, taking a drag.

"You know it'll kill you."

"Wise words, Harrow boy," she hit back.

"Harrow boy?"

"Don't tell me you've never tried it. I thought every public school boy had to. Initiation rights or something?" she replied, dodging the question. Clive shook his head.

"Yes, but I didn't have a death wish so I stopped," he answered, slightly impatiently. "Why do you do it anyway? It's stupid. It'll kill you."

"I know," she hit back, angrily, obviously getting annoyed at his questions. "but a lot of things can kill you," she continued. "My dad, he never smoked, never drank, never did anything like that. Took care of himself, he did. And then he went and died anyway. So I thought 'fuck this' and started smoking." The bitterness was clear to hear in her tone so Clive thought it was wise to leave her be, but he couldn't make his feet take him away. Damn it, she interested him. And anyway, they were going to have to spend the next six months together so he should really get to know her. "I'm trying to stop," she added, completely in contrast to her actions as she took another long drag on her cigarette.

"Then don't smoke it, then," he said, and before he could think he had reached out and taken the cigarette out of her mouth and thrown it to the ground, crushing it under his foot. He expected a slap for his troubles, but instead she just stared at him, her mouth hanging slightly open.

"Thanks," she said, beaming at him. Before he could reply, she'd gone. He shook his head and watched her go.

...

**Apr 25****th**** 2019  
10.34 PM**

"You can't do that, it's against the rules," Martha said, pointing at the dice. "You've already rolled once, why are you rolling again?"

"The dice fell off the table."

"So you find it, look at the number, and then move," she replied, speaking as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Not in my house you didn't."

"Let me guess, you just got a new dice," Martha cut in, flashing him a smile as she did so.

"No. We just always rolled again," he explained, shrugging.

"I knew we shouldn't have played Monopoly. It always ends in tears," she grumbled.

"No tears yet, Marth," he replied, moving his figure – the top hat, the piece he'd always been, every single time he'd ever played – across the board. When his piece got to its finishing position, Clive, wondered how they'd ended up playing Monopoly on Martha's living room floor. It was surreal more than anything, after all the tension that had been between them. He knew that everything wasn't back where it had been – they had definitely never played Monopoly before and there were still ominous silences between them when neither of them knew what to say, but it was better than nothing. He also knew they still had things to talk about, but Clive had a sinking feeling that they never would. Things always got in the way.

"£13 pounds, please," Martha said, sweetly and he grudgingly handed over his money.

"Marth?" he murmured, quietly, as she rolled the dice. "We need to talk."

"Talking's over rated."

"Martha-"

"Please, Clive. Things happened, we both moved on and now we're playing Monopoly, okay?"

He shook his head and sighed, but then, smiling sadly said, "Yeah. Okay," even though he knew it wasn't. Martha had disappeared off to Bolton, he'd married Harriet and every damn thing had gone wrong.

The events of five years ago hung over them like an unwelcome guest, neither wanting to bring it up for fear of what might happen, what might be revealed. They both just pretended that it hadn't happened and played on instead.

Both in the metaphorical sense and the physical sense.

Martha moved her piece – the dog - and both of them continued playing the game that had been more than twenty years in the making, a game that had slowly unfolded ever since that very first day.

It was _such_ a shame neither of them had ever known the rules.

...

**Sept 2****nd**** 1995  
7.15 AM**

Clive Reader met Martha Costello for the first time. The game began.

...


	5. Chapter 5

_**a/n Hello! It's been a while. I won't bother making excuses but I will say that I'm hoping that the next chapter will be up soon. I hope you enjoy it and I hope it's worth the wait. :) Feedback is always welcome. **_

_Chapter 5_

**Apr 26****th**** 2019  
12.54 AM**

Harriet was waiting for him when he got home. She was sitting on the living room floor, photo albums scattered around her. Some were from her childhood, some from his and then there was the album Harriet was flicking through when Clive arrived home. It was the album, bound in nice blue leather – a wedding present from Clive's parents – that contained their wedding photos.

He could barely look at the album splayed open on her lap, their happy faces smiling up at the bare ceiling. It seemed such a long time ago and yet it felt like yesterday. So much had happened to them since then and on the other hand, hardly anything had changed.

Harriet had changed into her pyjamas at some point when he was out and he got the impression she'd spent the whole evening like this, her head stuck in a much simpler past. He was tired and yet he knew he just couldn't ignore her and their problems and go to bed – that was how they'd managed to get themselves into this mess in the first place.

So he sat next to her and picked up a well thumbed album that was full of pictures of Clive when he was a boy. He opened it to the first place and couldn't help but smile when he saw the first picture in the album. It was of his mother, lovingly cradling her son on the day he was born.

He had just turned the page when Harriet spoke.

"Where did you go?"

"Does it matter?" he replied, shrugging and then shaking his head at the next picture in the album; one of him at about two years old, covered in dirt after a morning attempting to garden. He couldn't remember the day – he'd been too young – but it was a tale his mother had always told when he'd been younger.

"I think, Clive, that yes, it does," she responded, turning the page in her own album – that of their wedding day. "Did you go see her?" There was not even a trace of bitterness in Harriet's tone, even though Clive was expecting there to be. She was just simply asking him where he was, not judging or questioning, just asking. "Were you with Martha?"

He dipped his head so his forehead was no more than an inch away from the photo of him in his parent's garden aged two, covered in mud and smiling broadly at the camera. He didn't even need to speak, because his actions spoke louder than anything he could have said.

"The Louise McAdams trial starts tomorrow," Harriet said, after a long moment of silence. Clive couldn't quite understand why she was changing the subject so completely. Maybe him near enough admitting that he went to Martha's hurt her more than she was willing to admit. "Was it a good idea to go see the defence lawyer the night before the trial starts, Clive?" Her words surprised him but then he realised that she's making a very valid point – and yet it didn't cross his mind, and he doubted Martha's either, that the trial started in the morning when he went to her home. Only that he had to see her, had to talk to her.

"Are we going to talk about it?" he asked, tentatively, in an attempt to pull the conversation away from Martha and what he knew Harriet thought they had been doing. She couldn't be more wrong, and yet he didn't have the energy to correct her. He was just so tired, this evening felt as if it had lasted forever, and yet he knew it would go on for a little bit longer at least. There were things they needed to talk about, things neither of them were comfortable talking about, but that needed to be talked about all the same.

"Talk about what, Clive?"

He gave a cough, pausing for a second because he was unable to frame the words. "The baby," he managed to get out, his voice sounding choked and strained.

"What's there to talk about?" He frowned. In his opinion there was a lot that needed to be said, needed to be cleared up. Were they splitting up? He was pretty certain that, yes, they were, but the baby put a new light on everything. Could he spend another five years with a woman he didn't love just for the sake of his child? He had a suspicious feeling that maybe, if Martha hadn't turned up, he would have. He was almost certain that was why his mother had stayed with his father – that or she did actually love him and was stuck in some sort of delusion that one day, finally, he'd love her back. Clive didn't quite know which was preferable.

"There need to be...arrangements."

"Ah. Arrangements," Harriet said, nodding her head softly. "That means that you're going to stay around then. I thought that maybe-" She didn't get any further, because Clive chose that moment to cut in.

"That maybe I was a spineless bastard who was going to run away?" he asked, sounding angrier than he had intended. It was just he was fed up of people underestimating or thinking they knew what he was going to do before he'd even done it. He might have a reputation behind him, but things had – slowly, admittedly – changed for him over that last few years. He'd got married for god's sake. He'd settled down. Why did Harriet think that he might not stick around to look after their child?

"Yeah, something like that," she breathed, quietly, in reply. "Look, Clive-"

"No," he said. "It's late and I'm going to sleep, because I'm tired. We can talk about it in the morning," he added, because despite the fact he had brought this subject up, he suddenly didn't want to talk about it. It brought back suffocating memories of a conversation, years before, at a pub table, when another woman had sat opposite him and they'd made decisions about their child. He'd thought about it earlier – how could he have not thought about at a time like this? – but now it seemed so much worse.

"Clive," she called out softly, and he turned back to face her. "I know that you're talking about the baby, but I thought if we were talk honestly, then maybe we should..." She paused, and in the quiet few seconds, Clive knew that both of them knew where this was going. And he desperately didn't want it to go there. He wanted to walk out of his living room and never talk about what Harriet was about to bring up, what she proposed they talk about in the morning. "that conversation. The one that you always say never happened. I don't think we can – that we should – ignore it anymore. It...it seems relevant now."

"Why is it relevant now? It happened five years ago."

"You know why," Harriet levels in reply, completely evenly. Clive rubs his forehead – he hadn't been lying when he said he was tired. It had been a long day and, it seemed, an even longer evening. His mind was shutting down now and he couldn't think straight – he couldn't understand how acknowledging a conversation had half a decade earlier and then talking about it could do any good. But Clive had a slight feeling that Harriet tended to know what was better for them when he usually didn't have a clue. So maybe she was right bringing this particular conversation up. Sure, it hurt thinking about it even know, but maybe that was a sign that he needed to talk to someone about it. Clive was angling more to a psychiatrist than his seriously estranged wife, but he knew that when the morning came, he'd talk about it with her – if of course, by the morning she wanted to talk about it. His brain may only have been working on night shift, but he knew that talking about that conversation probably meant talking about what came afterwards. That was the main reason they had never talked about either event before – it was sort of a mutually assured destruction sort of thing. He didn't want to talk about the conversation and she didn't want to talk about what came after and so neither could mention the other, knowing that the thing they didn't want to talk about would come up.

But it seemed now that Harriet really didn't care for things like that and he could see it written across her face.

So he just nodded. Harriet, seemingly surprised that he agreed so easily, stared at him for a good long moment, before she nodded in reply.

He stood quickly after that and left the room, leaving a slight bemused Harriet behind, and he knew, as he got dressed into his pyjamas and brushed his teeth and got settled on the sofa, that the past was starting to...he wasn't quite sure. It seemed to be starting to sound like something he'd like to talk about with Harriet. He knew it sounded weird, but years and years of pretending something never happened meant that questions tended to pile up about it that never could be answered and now, maybe they could. Or maybe it was a stupid idea and he and Harriet would end up just arguing viciously like they were known to in the past – but Clive had a good feeling about this, for some strange reason.

...

**Mar 21****st**** 2014  
9.25 PM**

Billy was hanging behind, having lost his breath several times over their brisk walk across the city in search of Martha – so that left Clive and Harriet virtually alone, which, with emotions in their already heightened state, was not a good idea.

The air was cold for a spring night and Clive could tell that Harriet was disgruntled because he and Billy had dragged her away from what should have been a night of celebration and to, what seemed to her, a wild goose chase. He knew she didn't particularly care about Martha – her words from earlier in the evening still ringing in his ears – but he had hoped that she'd come to see it was a good thing they were doing, but it seemed it was to no avail. She was just as fed up with it as she was when they began, twenty five minutes before.

He was slightly ahead of her, actually having a drive to find her meant that he was always a step quicker, that bit more determined to find her and make sure this had a happy ending. Because he couldn't confidently say that if he didn't find her, no harm would come to her. He wasn't certain about that at all. Clive knew that the events of the last few weeks had not gone her way; what with Sean's verdict coming back all wrong in her eyes – Clive was of the feeling that Martha couldn't see what was plainly obvious to most of them, that it was a) pretty likely that Sean had killed the bloke he had been charged with murdering and b) that even if, by some miracle, he hadn't, all the evidence pointed to him being guilty, so even then he was likely to be convicted. As good a lawyer Martha was, Clive had almost known from the start that it had been pointless defending Sean. But Martha hadn't seen it that way and Clive was her friend, so he had supported her – not very well, albeit, but he tried all the same.

He stopped and called out her name again, but unlike every time before, when he was greeted with silence, he didn't move on. He waited for Harriet to catch up. It took her a few seconds and then the two of them just stood in the dead quiet, neither of them saying a word. Clive didn't know what to say to her and she didn't seem to quite know what to say either.

It didn't stop her breaking the silence a few moments later. "Why do you care so much?" she asked, somewhat snappily. It was late and she was tired and she thought that tonight was going to be much more interesting than tramping across dead streets late at night for a woman she didn't really give a damn about.

"Why does it matter to you?" Clive hit back, as he started to move off again. He heard Harriet groan a little behind him but then he heard footsteps so he figured she was following him.

"I want a proper answer, Clive. I want to know why you've dragged me from a perfectly good party and trawl the streets." The footsteps following him stopped so he turned around. Harriet was standing the middle of the pavement, pulling her coat tighter around her – there was a little evening chill in the air now night was setting in - glaring at him in the dim light. "_Why _do you care so much about Martha?"

"I love her, okay?" The words were snapped and full of anger and he wasn't sure why he'd said them aloud at all. Certainly they'd been what he'd thought when Harriet had asked him why he cared, but if he was being tactful or had even thought about the words coming out of his mouth he wouldn't have said them. He'd told Martha all those weeks ago that he loved her but this was different – admitting it to someone else. Clive had hoped – foolishly, it now seemed – for there to be a day were him admitting he loved her was second nature to him, and not some great struggle like it was at the moment. The words had seemed like second nature to him tonight – which was strange for a man who had hardly ever said it - but tonight, it had not been a good thing.

Harriet was staring at him, open mouthed.

"We're never talking about this again," he said hurriedly, before he started walking again – quicker than before. He'd just admitted something seriously personal to someone who was unlikely to keep it quiet – or more likely, just stop talking to him – so Clive was surprised when, after a few seconds, he heard footsteps behind him and glanced back to see Harriet following him.

He slowed his pace and soon they were side by side and the awkwardness was palpable. "You got that, Harriet? We're never talking about this again. This conversation never happened."

...

**Apr 26****th**** 2019  
6.02 AM **

He hadn't slept well all night and morning came far, far too quickly for Clive's liking. The only thing he had on today was the Louise McAdams trial which all kicked off at eleven so he had plenty of time – and yet he got up at six because he couldn't sleep with all the worry about his impending conversation with Harriet. He'd had a night's sleep to dwell on yesterday's events – well, actually a night's not sleep because of it – and he was nervous about it all.

He knew now that despite the fact that yesterday he hadn't known what he wanted to do in regards to the baby, he wanted to be a part of his child's life. How could he go about his daily like he gave up all rights to his kid, knowing that out there somewhere was a person – a real, actual person – who shared half his DNA? It had been what had forced him to step up when Martha was pregnant – though, he really should have tried harder, he knew now – the idea that if she had the baby and he wasn't involved he'd forever not know all the simple things about his child and he knew that the not knowing would have driven him mad. It was the same here. Clive knew he had to step up again – for Harriet and for the baby - to prove that he was worth it, that he deserved his place in their child's life.

With that out of the way, the other conversation he was going to have this morning was playing on his mind. That conversation he'd had with Harriet had been completely fine stuck as something that had happened that was probably too big to be ignored and yet they did anyway. Clive knew that this conversation about _that _conversation was overdue and probably didn't even really matter anymore – what with their relationship already falling apart around them. There was one thing that had surprised Clive, though: that Harriet had never forcefully brought it up. Maybe it was because of the mutually assured destruction thing, but he didn't quite think that was it all. Maybe it was because she knew better than him and she knew that she couldn't deal with it and he couldn't either – he'd made that clear that night. Clive shook his head. He had no clue really and he didn't know if this morning was going to make that clearer. He didn't think so.

He sighed and went for a shower, hoping that the water would wash away his confusion and his fear at what was to come. It didn't.

When he came down afterwards, Harriet was sitting at the kitchen table. It couldn't have been later than half six – something Clive confirmed by stealing a glance at the clock over the fridge as he sat down opposite Harriet – and yet here both of them were, seated at the kitchen table, ready to have probably the most honest conversation they'd ever had.

"Do you want the baby?" Harriet started by asking.

"I told you last night that I plan to stick around," Clive replied, evenly, determined that he wasn't going to get angry. That would just show Harriet that she couldn't reply on him to be a good dad – when she could. Really she could. Having children wasn't something Clive could admit to have thought a lot about. He never really had enough self-worth to admit that he could be a good dad – though he'd have never told anyone that, just fobbed them off with something about not wanting to settle down, not wanting something so...so serious in his life when all he wanted to be was carefree. The real reason was a little more complicated. The simple reply was that he didn't want to be like his dad, as he was a dreadful excuse for a father and by not having children he eliminated that possibility completely. But like he said, it wasn't that simple. He knew, deep inside, that he couldn't ever do half the hurtful things his father did, and yet he didn't trust himself enough not to. Wasn't it genes or something? Maybe he didn't have a choice – maybe it was destined that he would, no matter the circumstances, be a crappy dad? Clive didn't like to think like that but in the past he had found himself thinking something along those lines.

Or maybe it was because he couldn't ever find the right woman and settle down with her. He'd done both of those things now – he thought, maybe – but they had both been with different people. They had one thing in common though – the right one and the one he settled for; they'd both been pregnant with his child. Harriet still was. Didn't that mean something? Clive wasn't actually sure what but somehow it comforted him.

"Are you planning on being an active part of the baby's life – or is it more of a duty thing - child maintenance, stuff like that?" Harriet replied, and Clive told himself that it was a perfectly valid thing for her to ask about and not to get angry about it.

"I would like to be an active part of the baby's life," he answered, keeping his voice calm. "if you want that," he added quickly, knowing that he couldn't force anything on her that she didn't want. Clive just had to accept that if she didn't want him to be a part of the child's life, that wasn't really something that could be sorted at the kitchen table. More like in a court of law. He sighed and hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"Yeah, sure - I'm good with that." She nodded and he noticed that she looked distinctly happier about things now. Maybe, finally, he'd said the right things. "Is there anything else you want to talk about?" She gave him a small smile and he gave her one in reply. Having a child together meant that despite the failure of their marriage, they were always going to be a part of each other's lives. Clive knew that without the pressures of a relationship, they might have a shot at a good friendship developing.

"We're got months till the baby's born. We don't have to make any more big decisions for a while," he replied. "Talking about that, how far along are you?"

"Eight weeks." Clive absorbed the information and nodded.

"So that makes you due, in what, Jan next year?" he asked. She answered, saying that he was right and she was due on the 21st of Jan next year. They slipped into easy silence after that – both knowing that they'd really covered everything they wanted to talk about. That meant that they would have to move onto the other thing they'd planned to talk about this morning. That conversation they'd had that chilly spring night when they'd both been tired and slightly irritable – more than slightly in Harriet's case – and a truth had been shared that neither of them could deal with at the time. Maybe now they could.

"That night, what you said...?" Harriet seemed unsure about bringing it up, but she'd always had questions about it and now seemed like a good time to get them answered.

"Yeah?" he replied, even though he was trying desperately not the think about the admission he'd made then. It just complicated things even more.

"Do you still mean it?" Clive was glad that he hadn't said those words out loud because he didn't think that after all this time he could deal with them. Not that he'd ever been able to deal with it but now – after she'd disappeared from his life for five years, he'd married someone else and was now having a child with her – things were in an even worse place, something he didn't even think was possible. The night before things had started to be put back to right, but he knew they still had a long way to go.

That was why it took him a long time to answer Harriet's question – even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer the second she asked him. "I think that..." He paused, unsure if the admission he was planning on making would hurt her. He didn't want to hurt her, but he didn't think lying to her would make it any better. "yes, I do." He spoke quietly and for a moment, he wasn't sure if Harriet heard him, but when she replied he knew she had.

"Okay." She didn't sound defeated or upset, she just sounded like she had known already what his answer would be. He wondered that if the situation was flipped, he'd have reacted the same. He wasn't sure he would have been so accepting.

"Why did you marry me, Clive? Was it because she ran away and you couldn't have her so you settled for me?" He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore Harriet's question because he didn't really want to hurt her anymore but he knew that it he answered this next question truthfully, he might well do.

"I did love you but-" Before he could add anymore, Harriet interrupted him.

"You loved her more?" The statement hung between them, and the awkwardness in resulted in could be felt by both of them. He didn't think he could speak now – crush her anymore – so he just nodded. "Well, now that we've got that out of the way," Clive was glad to hear that even despite the revelations that had just been made, Harriet sounded suitably cheery – he just wasn't sure if she was putting it on though. He hoped she wasn't. "I would quite like a bacon sandwich."

"I'll get the frying pan."

...

**Apr 26****th**** 2019  
7.09 AM**

Clive was pretty sure that he'd just had one of the most comfortable mornings of his entire marriage. They had made bacon sandwiches and then they'd watched the telly. Things between them were more relaxed between them now after they'd finally had the honest talks that they really should have had a long time before – both yesterday when considering the end of their marriage and then this morning when discussing Martha and her role in all of this.

Harriet was in the living room and he was back in the kitchen fixing them both coffee when his phone rang. He answered it without looking at who it was calling him – if he had, he would have known it was Martha before she started talking.

"Hey," she said. "I just wanted to check you were – you and Harriet were okay." He noticed her stumble – how could he not? - and couldn't help but smile at the fact that really she was just checking up on him. Things still felt a little awkward between them but Clive knew things were changing and in the right direction.

"Yeah, were okay. We've talked about the baby," he replied, leaning on the work surface to watch the kettle. He couldn't help a little bit of excitement creeping into his tone. He was going to be a father. And a good one at that. He knew it.

"That's good."

"Yeah, it is. I've thought about it, Marth. I want to be a dad so I have to step up and make sure I'm a good one. I didn't really do that last time – I really wish I had tried harder – but I'm not going to mess up this time." For a second, he wondered if he'd told her too much. Things _were_ only just starting to thaw between them after all.

"That's good," she replied and he got the impression that maybe talking about the baby he was going to have with his – estranged, though – wife was not a good thing to wax lyrical about to his – his what? His ex? Could he even call her that? Old friend was much more suitable but it didn't really cover everything. Though Clive didn't think there would be term to neatly describe what she was to him.

"Sorry. I'm not being very tactful. We should talk about something else." The kettle flicked off and Clive shuffled across the kitchen towards it. "How was the rest of your evening?" he asked, as he started to pour his and Harriet's coffees.

"Not very exciting," she replied, faking a yawn to prove her point. "I played scrabble against myself on the compute after you'd left," she offered up. Sensing she'd need to defend herself against teasing she spoke up quickly. "I was bored. Scrabble is fun."

"Scrabble is fun," Clive repeated. "Middle age settling in Martha?" She hit back – saying something like he'd enjoyed monopoly and wasn't that the same? So he was middle aged too. He'd replied that playing monopoly was the opposite; pretending he was a kid again. They'd gone on like this for a few more minutes, just enjoying the comfortable back and forth until Martha said she needed to go because she needed to get to work. They said goodbye and when he hung up he felt better about himself than he had in a while.

He took the coffees and took them through the living room where Harriet was sitting on the sofa, holding a cushion and watching a re-run of Bones avidly. "I didn't even know they showed Bones this early," Clive noted. Harriet had a thing for the programme so he figured he knew when it usually was one – late evenings – and he thought that was it.

"I didn't either," she replied, taking the coffee he was offering and taking a sip. "I have to go to work in a bit."

"I'll drive you," he offered and she rolled her eyes at him.

"I can still drive, Clive. I'm just having a baby, I'm not dying." For some reason, the flippancy of her words made them both feel a little strange. Clive put it down to the fact neither of them were completely used to the fact that she was going to have a baby.

"Of course," he finally said, and things seemed to ease between them after his words. A few minutes later Clive was back in control of the remote again so by the time Harriet had to leave to go to work, they were watching cricket – something she had not stopped moaning about the entire time it was one.

She hovered by the living door when she was all ready to go, car keys in hand and Clive got the sense she wanted to say something to him so he looked up. "Thank you." He knew she meant it and smiled at her. A few seconds later he heard the front door slam.

...

**Apr 26****th**** 2019  
11.02 AM**

He shuffled a few of his papers and tried to calm the nerves that were starting to rise in his stomach just like they always did at the start of any major trial. He knew that by the time he started talking – which wouldn't be long now – that things would be fine, but now he was feeling more than a little anxious.

"All rise," the court clerk called out and he stood, but he couldn't resist glancing next to him, where Martha was. They met gazes and he couldn't stop the urge to smile, because he'd missed this – going up against Martha in court.

They sat down and the trial started.

...


End file.
